Promise me
by dr pepper upper
Summary: Reluctantly, so reluctantly, John began to turn and race out of the Bridge. George's voice stopped him. "Keep him safe." Reaper!McCoy
1. Promise Me

Title: Promise Me

Author: drpepperupper

Characters: Kirk/Reaper!McCoy, George Kirk, Sam Grimm, Winona Kirk, Christopher Pike

Fandom: Doom/Star Trek crossover

Rating: R

Warnings: Just swearing

Notes: This took a LONG time. I've been working out the idea, the video, the writing for about a week now. I really hope it is worth it because I put a lot into it. Yes, I made a video to go with this, which I will post here. I'm dabbling in Doom/Star Trek xi again, so bear with me here. ** I would like to note that I've changed the timeline of Doom. I've taken a HUGE leap and I'm sure some people will not agree with what I've done, but I've moved the events of Olduvai to 2233 to fit this story. I know I've taken huge artistic liberties with this and I AM sorry if it offends anyone. Really. Sorry. But it's the only way this will work for me. ** The video I made to go with this story can be found: .com/watch?v=umSenF0VHZw. I THINK there will be some kind of continuation, since my muses are on overdrive right now.

Within the first twenty-four hours of knowing him, John Grimm was sure there would never be a man as great as George Kirk.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing John noticed was that Sam wasn't in his arms. The second thing he noticed was that _oh God, _he was completely exhausted. The third thing he realized was that he wasn't even in the elevator he remembered getting into to escape the hell of Olduvai.

The last thing he noticed was that he wasn't alone. There was a man standing by the bed he was lying on, staring down at him as John breached the hazy fog of sleep to awareness. The man had a fresh, young face and looked at him with what was either awe, confusion, or repulsion. Or all three.

It was funny how those things sometimes went hand in hand.

John's brain was struggling to think, just like his limbs were struggling to move against the heavy weight of his own body. _What the hell?_ Dark eyes blinked blearily up at the stranger's face, uncomprehending. "You–You gave me a sedative." Oh, God, what had they done to him? John's mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls, dry and hard to speak around. The man snorted and shook his head.

"More like twelve. You're a hard man to bring down."

"... Huh?" _Oh, how very articulate, John_, he thought to himself while he grimaced, slowly shaking his head to clear the imaginary cobwebs that stopped him from thinking clearly.

"Yeah, once we beamed you up, it took three medics and about twelve sedatives to bring you down. You have a great right hook, you know that?" Why yes, John _was_ aware of that. He wasn't a goddamn Marine for nothin', after all.

"Hu–? Oh." That would explain the bruise on the stranger's cheek. "Uh... Oops?"

"Am I supposed to take that as an 'I'm sorry'?"

"Um..."

"Yeah, okay, apology accepted, Mr...?" Finally, the sedative's effect was beginning to wear off. John pushed himself up on his elbows and blinked a few times, sharpening and focusing his eyes.

"John Grimm, RRTS 6 Special OPs," he replied in the same monotonous voice that the computers did when recognizing a fingerprint or DNA of his. He looked expectantly at the stranger, but when no explanation came, he went on. "Wait, you _beamed_ me up? Where's my sister?" Where was Sam? Oh, God, what if...? What if she had been in worse shape than he thought? "Where the _hell_ am I? _How_ did I get here?" His brain was beginning to pick up speed, his eyes darting around and assessing what he saw. It was going to take a lot of getting used to, this whole 'super strong, super fit, super intelligent' thing that the C-24 imposed upon him.

The stranger, however, looked completely at ease. "Mmhmm. We finally got a lock on your signal when you were on that elevator. We got your transmission for backup a little while ago." His face darkened slightly as he continued, "but I guess we were too late." John scoffed.

"Yeah, you can say again." He looked over the man in his blue shirt. John's eyes zeroed in on the little emblem on the shirt and then nodded slowly. "You're Starfleet," he said, frowning immediately. Starfleet and the Marines didn't get along. The Marines were convinced that the men and women that controlled the galaxies were snot-nosed, crybaby infants who couldn't handle a _real_ situation. In turn, Starfleet hated Marines for their trigger-happy, kill-everything-in-sight, kick-ass-and-take-names behavior. Starfleet was all about peace and crisp uniforms. Marines were the complete opposite. They were at each other's throats constantly, which was the exact reason why John was frowning.

The stranger wasn't frowning back at him, however. He was actually _smiling_, the smug bastard. "And you're a Marine," he said as he nodded. John was quickly losing his patience.

"You _still_ haven't explained everything to me. Like, for one thing, where my sister is." If John was one thing, he was protective. He had felt protective of the Kid because he really was_ just a kid _and Sarge had shot him. He _was not _going to take chances with Sam.

"The woman you were carrying? The medics released her when she woke up. She's actually with my wife right now. She's pregnant and getting close to her due date, so your sister volunteered to keep an eye on her so that the doctors and nurses could focus on more pressing matters," he replied smoothly, but John heard the silent _that means __**you.**_ John sighed in relief and swung his legs over the biobed he was currently laying on. The man, however, stood up and grabbed his arm before John could go anywhere. "Not so fast, Superman." John snorted at the nickname.

"I'm sure you're the first of many who'll call me that," he jerked his arm out of the man's grasp, perversely delighted in the small hiss of pain he got for his trouble. The man, however, was quite adamant, and held on until John whirled around to snarl in his face. "Let. Go. Of. Me." Instead of looking afraid, his mouth quirked up a little and, much to John's aggravation, impossibly blue eyes twinkled with barely concealed humor until he turned serious.

"Look, we don't know what went on down there and the captain is gearing up to send some men down th–" John's eyes flew open in panic and suddenly _he _was the one gripping the man's arm, tight enough to startle but not to hurt.

"No! They can't go down there!" There could still be monsters. Maybe he hadn't killed them all... It was too much of a risk. "Tell him to stop! Tell him... They can't go down there! They _cannot _go down there." The man looked annoyed for the first time since John woke up.

"Who are you to give orders to _us_?" Fuck orders! The man didn't understand, he didn't _know_. They were going to send fresh-faced (most likely a bunch Redshirts, as the Marines liked to joke about the poor, unfortunate souls that _always_ got knocked off) officers down there and they were going to get _killed_ and then everything John had fought for would go to Hell again.

"Not orders! It's... They... _Please_, tell him not to. They're all going to _die_ if he does." At the man's incredulous expression, John flailed his arms helplessly and tried to make him understand. "I'll tell you _everything_, I will, if you stop them. You'll understand. I _promise_ you. Don't let them go down there. Don't."

There was no hesitation this time. The man grabbed his comm. and spoke into it quickly, advising the captain not to send down an away team until he had gotten necessary information from John. He stared at John then, assessing him quietly. "Well?"

"Well, we're going to need a private place and some drinks if you want me to do this."

"That wasn't part of the deal!"

"Is now, Mr...?" The man stuck his hand out, an odd little half grin growing on his face.

"You sure know how to drive a hard bargain, Mr. Grimm. I'm Lieutenant Commander George Kirk." John raised an eyebrow at the long title, but shook Kirk's hand. Only then did he realize, with belated shock, that he was completely clean and sporting a pair of doctor's scrubs. He looked different to himself, free of all the blood and grime. Kirk, noticing his late epiphany, just laughed.

"You were a mess, so we put you in the sonic shower and dressed you. Being a Marine and all, we guessed you wouldn't like being put in one of our uniforms... Yours is being cleaned now. You don't look as bad as you did before. The scrubs look better on you than your uniform did, at least." The quip at his Marine getup was not unnoticed, but John only spared him an eye roll, something he'd been practicing for when he saw Sam again over the last ten years.

"Well, it's only fair that they look good on me. I was practically my team's medic, after all." '_Was' _was a word he'd never thought could cause pain, but when John thought about Goat, the Kid, Duke, Destroyer... Even Portman and Sarge... '_Was'_ left a bitter taste in his mouth that he was forced to swallow.

"Marines have _medics_? And here we 'crybaby space cowboys' thought you were indestructible!" The mock-shocked look on Kirk's face was humorous enough that John had to cough in his hand to muffle a laugh.

"I wouldn't know _anything_ about that nickname." Kirk led him out of Medical Bay, striding with a purpose, radiating energy and confidence as he walked. John really hoped, for Kirk's wife's sake, that their aforementioned unborn child wasn't _anything_ like the man walking in front of him.

"I hope you like orange juice."

"I–uh, what?"

"Well, you know, Winona being pregnant and all, we don't keep alcohol in our room these days."

"I–you... _Damn_." John _had_ been hoping he'd be able to get completely hammered, talk about what had happened and then not remember it in the morning. Orange juice was just _not_ going to do that. "Uh... Yeah. Orange juice is... Fine." The reluctance to say the words was painfully obvious and all John got for his trouble was a chuckle from the insufferable Kirk.

That was exactly how he ended up in the Kirk quarters, sitting on a couch, a tall glass of orange juice with ice and talking about what had happened. He went moment by moment, extremely thoroughly, telling Kirk everything from the moment they learned that leave was cancelled to the last thing he remembered. He was talking to a senior officer, giving him one hell of a briefing. He talked about C-24, however reluctantly. He explained why it had taken so much to bring him down, to get the sedatives to work. When he was through talking about the actual events, he talked about his team.

When he ended up breaking down when he mentioned the Kid and how he was so _young_ and how Sarge had just _killed_ him, just like _that_, Kirk didn't say anything. When he fell asleep on the couch he was sitting on, Kirk didn't wake him up. When Kirk ended up putting a blanket over John while he was sleeping, John woke for just a moment, long enough to think _that's one weird sonuvabitch, but I like him._

As expected, over the next few days, John had to tell the captain what he had told Kirk the first night. He didn't let himself show any more weakness... He'd already done enough of that in front of Kirk. The next few hours after the interrogation found John and George in the Kirk quarters again, drinking more iced orange juice and just talking. They were in a comfortable lull in their conversation about how Starfleet transporters were becoming more and more stable by the month. Apparently, less and less body parts were being lost. "Although," George had said, laughing, "sometimes the damn thing decides that pants or shirts are no longer necessities and decide to leave them behind. I lost a shoe just last week when I beamed down to Risa."

They were plotting a course back home to Earth, and frankly, John didn't know what to expect. Since the secret of C-24 was out (and he was, of course, the last remaining survivor with the twenty-fourth chromosome) they would most likely want him. They would want him to be a test subject. _A lab rat._ The thought occurred to him quite suddenly and John felt his stomach clench and he stared dejectedly into his orange juice. George was watching him with a bemused expression, tilting his head to the side. "Need some more ice?"

"No, no. I'm good with the ice, thanks." _I can't fucking believe we're having a conversation about iced orange juice. George Kirk, you __**are**__ one odd sonuvabitch._

"Then what's bothering you?" He would have to ask this man's wife if he was always this goddamn nosey. John refused to make eye contact, instead glaring at his ice as if he could make it melt just by looking at it.

"A lab rat. That's all I'm going to be after this, you know that, Kirk? One goddamn lab rat."

"I dont..."

"I'm the only one with the extra chromosome, Kirk. I'm the only living one _left_. You think they're gonna just let me walk away?" A hard, resolved expression made its way onto George's expression and he shook his head firmly. A little leap of hope wriggled into John's heart, writhing under the thoughtful, serious expression on the man's face.

"No, you're not going to be a lab rat, John. Not if I have anything to say about it." John shook his head and sighed at George.

"Look, I appreciate it, but you don't have any standing over UAC."

George sighed hopelessly and ran a hand through his hair, deep in thought. John's head snapped up, dark eyes glinting brightly and looking a little flushed. He stood up abruptly, putting his glass of orange juice on the table between them.

"Wait... Just beam me somewhere far away on Earth. Promise me, Kirk. Promise me you'll give me and Sam a fighting chance, a head start. A head start. That's all I ask." When George hesitated, John went on. He was not ashamed to be caught begging, not this time. "Damn it, George, I'm a soldier, not a–a goddamn lab experiment!" George just nodded and smiled a little.

"Okay. Okay. I can do that." John felt a smile, a _real_ smile begin to break like the sun over his face.

"You know, for a 'Fleet officer, you ain't so bad."

"Can it, you trigger-happy bastard."

"Sure thing, crybaby space cowboy."

As it would turn out, George Kirk wouldn't have to beam John Grimm to Earth. He would never be able to. Two days after George made his promise, John was startled into awareness when alarms started blaring and the ship started quivering beneath him. He was in Medical Bay with Sam and George's wife, Winona, who looked like she was about to give birth to her baby any minute. Judging by her pained moans, John was sure that the delivery wasn't going to be a pleasant one. It was made even more complicated when the U.S.S _Kelvin _suddenly came under attack. John was back in black, sporting his Marine uniform again and wondering very serious if the thing was cursed. _Why is it_, he wondered, _that every time I wear this damn thing, something goes wrong? _

He immediately made himself useful, gathering both Sam and Winona under his arms and holding them so that they wouldn't go flying. He was concerned about Winona, making sure she wouldn't fall and hurt the baby. He was holding onto Sam so that she wouldn't go wandering off like she had a habit of doing. "Oh, my god..." He heard Winona mutter as she clutched at her bulging stomach. "I think my water just broke." _So it did_. John was having a hard time keeping the horrified look off of his face as he called for the medics. "John, find George!" He didn't need to be told twice. He ran out of the Medical Bay, leaving Winona's screams of labor behind him.

All he could think was, _Jesus H. Christ, why __**now**__?_

He heard George's voice yelling over the blaring alarms, ordering everyone to evacuate as quickly as possible. John fought against the raging current of people pushing against him, hindering him in his fight to get onto the Bridge. Where was the captain and why the _hell_ was George Kirk suddenly in control?

As soon as he burst onto the Bridge, John could figure out why. People were dying left and right, they were being fired on and there was one _huge ass ship_ in front of them. George was in the captain's seat, barking out orders and doing a damn good job, in John's opinion. "George!" John shouted as he ran in, attracting the attention momentarily of the newly appointed Acting Captain.

"John! Where's–?"

"Winona's gone into labor. The medics are with her right now. Look, you gotta go! This ship isn't gonna make it," he spoke quickly as the rest of the remaining Bridge crew filed out. There was a look in George's eyes that John _really_ didn't like. He recognized the desperation, the hopelessness and prayed to a God he never believed in that George wasn't thinking what John thought he was thinking.

"John, I need you to go now. Get Winona, get Sam, get on a shuttle and _go_." Shock settled in John and he just stared at George for a moment, his heart pounding at the realization of what he was saying. He spluttered and shook his head, eyes wide as he looked at him.

"No, George, don't! Your wife needs you! Hell, your _kid_ is going to need you. Just get out of here. Just..."

"This is my responsibility! I need to do this. Find Winona. Help her, John," he growled, running forward and pressing buttons, steering the ship on a collision course. John's chest tightened and he tried to walk towards George, tried to pull him away. "_No_, John!"

"You can't do this to them! You can just _leave_ them! They're gonna need you, you can't..."

"Go _now_, that's an order." There was no room for any kind of argument in George's voice. If moisture spilled over either man's eyes, neither of them noticed. "_Now_, John!" Reluctantly, _so_ reluctantly, John began to turn and race out of the Bridge. George's voice stopped him. "Keep him safe." How the hell George Kirk knew his baby was going to be a boy, John would never know, but George just seemed to be the kind of person to _know_ things. "Promise me you'll keep him safe."

"I will. I promise." _Thank God for being super fast_, he thought as he raced back to Medical Bay. Sam was still there, looking frazzled and terrified. "Sam, Sam! We've gotta go. Where'd they take Winona?" She looked surprised to see him.

"John? Where's George...?" The bleak look he gave her was enough to give Sam her answer and she put her hands to her face and drew in a shuddering breath. "They... They're going to the shuttle. They're waiting for George, John. Oh, my God..."

"C'mon!" He took off again, running slower than his super-human speed so that Sam could run along. Just ahead of them, medics in white careened around a corner, pushing a screaming woman in front of them. _Winona_. She... It was too much to comprehend. She was going to have a _baby_ while her _husband_ was _killing_ himself. _Jesus Christ_, he thought sourly, _when did the universe decide it hates us so much?_ The medics and Winona boarded the shuttle first, followed by the two Grimm siblings. Sam immediately went to Winona and the medics to help with the delivery while John quietly went to the pilot to deliver George's orders to leave.

John sat down heavily in the corner, listening to Winona's labor and the calming voices of the medics as the shuttle sped away from the _Kelvin_. John never hated himself so much in his life. There was a man, a great man, sacrificing himself when he had so much to live for... It disgusted John because he would have so readily taken George's place. If George had let him, John would have crashed the goddamn ship. He had nothing much to live for, anyway, and he was going to live for a goddamn long time if no one ever shot at him again.

John buried his head in his hand and rubbed away any moisture that had spilled over. He heard the cry of a baby at the same time that George said his last words to his wife and new son. John looked on in morbid fascination as the baby was laid in Winona's outstretched arms. "Holy _shit_," was all he could say while he thought _thank God I'm not a woman_. Who the _hell_ would want to go through that much pain only to get a baby and no husband to raise it with?

As they raced away from the huge ship, John leaned his head on Sam's shoulder, listening to Winona's wails and the sound of a new life beginning.

_"Keep him safe. Promise me you'll keep him safe."_

_"I promise."_

* * *

_What the __**hell**__ was I __**thinking**__?_ Taking on keeping James Tiberius Kirk safe was _not_ a fucking walk in the park, damn it. John was keeping his promise to George, his last favor to a man he probably owed his life to. Because of him, John Grimm was not a lab rat as he had expected to be. He was walking free.

Well, sort of free, anyway. He had a kid to secretly spy on (_sure_, that didn't sound creepy _at all_) but said kid was _hell on wheels._

_**Literally**__. _Johnremembered the time he had once hoped that George Kirk's kid wouldn't be like his father, for Winona's sake. Well, as it so turned out, Winona was hardly there for little Jimmy Kirk. So, the one who got stuck with the kid as he rebelled was, of _course, _John_, _even though the kid didn't know it. It was a vain hope, as John found out later into Jim's life.

Apparently, the kid thought he had problems and the only way to solve those problems was to be a little shit. Oh, and he was good at it too, much better than John had ever been when he was Jim's age. His early teenage years were the _worst_ years John had ever experienced. Upon arriving in Iowa, he joined the local police force, just to have a cover. He never thought it would actually come in handy for keeping an eye on Jim.

_Boy_, was he wrong. The first time he came in contact with Jim Kirk via the police department, he had gotten into a bad fight at school while John was passing by. He was the one to break it up. He hadn't known exactly who it was (he was still looking for the kid, after all, since he hadn't been able to get a hold of Winona to ask where her son was) until those bright, blue eyes stared defiantly up at him. John had felt his heart clench in his chest and his breath had stopped for a full minute. Those were unmistakably _George Kirk's_ eyes, he had known just by looking at him.

_You're pathetic, John. You knew the guy for two weeks, tops, and you're __**sure**__ this kid is his by his __**eyes**__?_ John had scoffed at himself slightly. He hadn't noticed he'd paid so much attention to George Kirk's eyes, because he sure as hell _didn't_, because that would have been a _womanly_ thing to do.

They _had_ been a rather brilliant shade of blue, though; the same exact shade that the kid staring up at him had. "Whadd'ya want?" John glared sternly at the petulant boy until he had reluctantly added, "Officer." Sure, John prided himself on his hunches, but he had to make sure... John _had_ to know if this was the boy he thought he was.

"What's your name, kid?" The kid looked miffed at being called a 'kid', but at another sharp glare directed at him from John, he had straightened his shoulders, a half grin taking the place of his frown and looking positively _cocky_. John didn't need confirmation after that. After all, the stance and the expression was one he had seen within the first five minutes of knowing George Kirk.

"My name is James Tiberius Kirk."

Oh, _damn_.

So, John was right in thinking that the kid was George's son. He motioned for the kid to sit down on a nearby bench outside of the principal's office. The first (most likely innocent) boy was in there first and John was sure that Jim was going to get one hell of a chew out. "Why're you fighting, Jim?" He knelt down on the floor and took the kid's face in his hands, gently probing with gloved hands at the cuts and the bruises that were already forming.

"Take your helmet off."

"Huh?"

"Kinda hard to talk to someone when they're wearing a full helmet. You're kinda freaky looking with that on, y'know." He had flinched a little as John poked a sore spot. "Ouch! Stop that!"

"It wouldn't hurt if you hadn't started a fight, kid. Now hold still."

"Take off your helmet."

"No."

"Why not?" _Annoying, whining, needling kid. I'm __**never**__ ever gonna forgive you for this one, George Kirk. You better watch your ass, because when I get up there, you are __**so**__ dead._

"Uh, 'cause I don't want to. Stop squirming, damn it. Hold _still_."

"I'll hold still if you take off your helmet."

"OH, for the love of– Yeah. Okay. Fine." Annoyed, John reached up and tugged his helmet off and glared at the kid. "Happy now, princess?" Curious blue eyes had burned into wary dark ones, sparkling with a look John could recognize.

"You're not as bad as the other cops 'round here."

"I–uh, what?"

"You don't have doughnut all over your face, for one thing." 

"I... Don't like doughnuts much..." 

"Oh, me neither! It gets all over your hands..." 

"Okay, great, kid. Now just hold still." 

"What's your name?" John had just barely suppressed a groan. What _had_ he gotten himself into? 

"Uh... John. M'name is John."

"Oh, man. That's disappointing." 

"How the hell is my name _disappointing_?"

"I thought it would be cooler. Like... Darius, or something like that. You look kinda like a Darius." 

"My name is _John_," he growled, developing a pounding in his head that was quickly heading towards migraine zone. 

"John what?" 

"John 'you-don't-need-to-know', brat," he had instantly retorted, setting to work cleaning the cuts and putting ointment on them, smiling to himself each time the kid winced and tried to pull away. "Hold. _Still_." 

"If you don't tell me your name, I'll have to find out myself. I can do that, you know. I'm smart." _Oh, I'll just bet you are, kiddo_, John had thought grimly.  

"Yeah, you do that." John had stepped away just as a big man came barreling down the hallway, bellowing Jim's name and looking like a bat outta hell. _Ah. Must be Frank._ John could only watch quietly as the boy was dragged by his skinny arm into the principal's office. Blue eyes had flashed to John, looking at him, almost pleading with him before turning steely and resolved. The door had shut with a resounding slam behind him.  Holy _shit_. 

Keeping Jim safe was going to be a suicide mission. The kid was uncommonly bright, a boy genius, really. He just... Didn't put his brilliant mind to good use. As far as John could tell, he used his brain to get into trouble with the teachers, his Uncle Frank and he was sure as _hell_ that he'd be trouble for cops later on in life.

John didn't know how long he could afford to stay in Iowa, looking over Jim. People knew him, had known him for a while, and often commented on how young he looked. He had been in Iowa since Winona settled there with her brother, though he never made himself known to her. Well, at least, he didn't show up at her doorstep. She had been furious with him when he told her about George's orders. Apparently, she thought he could have changed George's mind. John couldn't help but be angry at the accusation. He had _tried_, damn it! He would have gladly taken George's place. But George Kirk was a man who, once he got his mind set on something, no one could change his course of action. Winona had not understood.

So, in order to avoid getting a restraining order filed against him, he had joined the local police force and waited. He was comfortable with his job. Something about carrying around a gun and being in a black suit appealed to him, apparently. _I will forever be the one in uniform_, John thought to himself as he mounted his hovering vehicle of a motorcycle and began making his rounds.

He just passed the Kirk residence when he heard tires squealing and music blaring behind him. John didn't even need to look to see who it was.

_Goddamn kid, what the hell is he doing __**now**__?_ John wasn't even sure if he _wanted_ to know, but it was his duty both as a police officer and because of his promise to George, so he turned and began racing in the direction of the speeding car. He could hear Jim screaming along with the song and it was _really_ atrocious. The kid was _completely_ tone deaf and it grated on John's heightened senses. He caught up to the kid, his frown deepening when he saw the expression on Jim's face; something in between pleasure and pain, blazing happiness and drowning in sadness. He didn't understand...

_"Protect him."_ He could almost hear George's voice in his ear, urging him along.

_Your kid is a real pain in the ass, Kirk. Thanks a whole fucking __**lot**_. John ordered Jim to pull over, even though he _knew_ it wasn't going to be that goddamn easy. The kid turned sharply and John jolted. He knew where the kid was heading. _Oh, Jesus, please no!_ Quickly, frantically, John turned to follow Jim at breakneck speed, trying desperately to get close to the kid, to shout out, to do _something_ to stop what John _knew_ he was about to do. "Jim, _NO_!" _Jesus, God, Holy Spirit, whatever is out there, don't let him do it, not now_... The kid couldn't even hear his shout and John was so close to throwing himself off of the cliff as well.

It wouldn't be worth it. He'd probably fucking live, of course. Stupid super healing and all.

So, it wasn't totally pathetic of him to breathe a loud sigh of relief when Jim jumped out of the car at the _last second_, still almost careening off of the cliff but managing to hold on due to pure iron will. _You little __**shit**_, John thought as he jumped off of his bike and stepped towards the blond-haired demon from hell. _Seriously. Thanks a whole fucking lot, George-Fucking-Idiot-Suicidal-Man Kirk. Really could use you here right about now_. John wasn't so great with kids. He took off his helmet and stared right down at Jim

"The _hell_ are you doing, kid?"

"John?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's me, Jim. What the _hell_ was _that_?" Jim Kirk was a little more familiar with him than the other cops around. John made a point to help Jim out, even if it was mostly behind the scenes. He'd seen the kid a few times since Jim had met him, but he was still a more familiar face to the kid. John had to absently wonder if that was going to be a problem in the future. The kid didn't answer, much to John's irritation. "Damn it, Jim, talk to me here! You just drove a fu– a car off of a cliff, you reckless k–"

"Freeze! Don't move!" John snapped his head around, looking directly behind him. There was a man holding a gun, looking as scared as he did determined. Oh. So _that_ was why the kid hadn't said anything. John turned away from Jim and towards the attacker.

"Sir, put down your weapon," said John in his calm 'I'm-a-cop-so-you'd-better-fucking-listen' voice, though that did nothing but rile the man up.

"I said freeze!"

"John..." Jim's voice wasn't his normal, loud tone. He sounded small and scared, standing on the edge of the cliff, staring at a madman with a gun. _You damn Kirks. Why the hell does the bad stuff happen when I'm with you?_ "John, be careful!"

"Shut up, kid. Let me do my job." John left no room for argument and instead turned to the man with a gun. "Sir, I can help you. What is the matter?"

"Don't move!"

"John..."

"Jim, stay calm. It's okay. You're gonna be fine, kid." At least... He hoped Jim would come out of this alright. The man holding the gun looked entirely too unstable and shaken. Some men didn't have a reason for attacking at all, just some crazy notion in their heads. This seemed to be the case. "Sir, tell me what's wrong."

"I... I..." The man was shaking, lowering his gun. John breathed a slow sigh of relief and backed a bit towards Jim, who looked almost scared out of his wits. John guessed he'd never been faced with such a real threat before, though John's own heart was pounding because of the almost suicide jump that Jim had almost taken over the cliff, not the man. John could take him down, no problem. The only thing stopping him was Jim. He didn't want the kid to think that he was a... Freak. _You __**are**__ a freak, you genetically mutated sonuvabitch. Don't you forget that_.

"Leave us alone!"

"Jim, shut it." John moved slowly towards the man, who had his eyes now locked on Jim. Some people in Iowa were just nuts.

"Go aw–" There was a split second and everything went to hell. The man twitched just a little bit, but it was enough to send alarm bells ringing in John's mind.

_"Protect him!"_ Since _when_ did his conscience start sounding like George Kirk? Oh yeah, since John had gone crazy, too. Maybe he was always crazy.

_Damn it, George! I'm a Marine, not a guardian angel!_ However, he felt his heart speed up and he watched almost helplessly as the man pulled the trigger, aiming it at Jim, the defenseless child. _Almost_ helplessly. In a matter of seconds, John threw himself in front of the bullet, heart pounding and a resounding, "No!" on his lips. He watched the man's face crumple into fear and shock and he heard Jim scream his name. He may have been the equivalent of Superman, but that didn't mean that a bullet in his chest didn't hurt like a bitch.

Because it _did_.

The man turned and ran away, sprinting off towards John's bike and stealing it before John even hit the ground. Jim was at his side within seconds, pale as a sheet and looking at the blood pouring from his wound. "Jim... Jim," John gasped, putting his hand over his wound and breathing shallowly. Jim peered at his face, trembling and looking like he might pass out. "Jim, go find help."

Jim could only nod and take off running. John waited until Jim's voice faded away with his body to get up and brush himself off. _Thank God for C-24_, he thought absently as he scrambled, looking for a place to hide. It wasn't long until he found a conveniently placed boulder that he could huddle behind until all the mayhem settled. He could hear Jim's voice, yelling over a few adults' voices, telling them what happened. He heard Jim stop talking abruptly as he reached the place where John had been minutes before.

"He... He was here. The blood is here... Where... Where did he go?"

"Son, you were awfully close to the edge... Maybe he just... Fell." There was almost an hour of calling John's name and searching until the noise faded away. Slowly, still sore from the bullet (which he had managed to pull out, thank goodness), John stood, only to throw himself back to the ground when he caught sight of Jim on his knees, staring down the cliff.

He was making no noises as the sunlight failed and slipped away into the unknown, he just sat there, knees getting dusty and grimy as he stared down where the car and, supposedly, John Grimm was. John watched him quietly, as always, and had to fight not to go over and reveal himself to Jim when the boy's shoulders started shaking. He could hear the quiet crying in the dark and whether it was over the car or John being dead, he would never be able to find out. His heart felt like it was splitting into a million pieces at the sight of James T. Kirk showing John and the silent cliff his sad, broken self.

_I protected him, just like you said, George. I kept my promise._

After a while, Jim rubbed his hands furiously over his eyes, stood and began to walk away. He only stopped to stoop over and collect something front the ground. When he stood back up with the object in his hands, John had to strain his eyes to see it. It was his _helmet_. His goddamn helmet. The one Jim hated to see on John. _Oh, Jim. I'm so sorry_.

Jim walked away with the last remaining piece of John Grimm in his hands. John Grimm walked away with the last remaining piece of innocence in Jim Kirk's childhood.

There was never a bitterer taste in either of their mouths.

* * *

After his 'death', John Grimm moved away. With a town as small as Riverside, Iowa, there was no way in _hell_ that people wouldn't recognize him. So, he went to the only other person he could think of.

He hadn't seen Sam in a long time... She was getting older and he wasn't. It was... Hard to process for John, for some reason and he wasn't happy with it. However, when he asked Sam if he could move down to Georgia for a bit, she was ecstatic. She never missed an opportunity to see her brother, something John always had to smile at. He was down there for a week before they breached the subject of Jim.

"How's he doing, John?" The heaved sigh he gave in return made her chuckle nervously.

"He's... A handful, I'll just say that, Sam. That kid is going to be _so_ much trouble when he gets older, I swear." She chuckled and patted his arm, then frowned.

"Why aren't you with him now, then?" After a long, tense moment, John told her about the accident with the man, the gun, and Jim. He clapped her hands over her mouth and shook her head slowly. "What are you going to do?" John shrugged, chewing thoughtfully on a carrot stick, leaning against her bright kitchen counters.

"I don't know... I'll go up and check on the kid every once and a while. You know, so he won't see me... I'll find something to do in the meantime. I don't know. Not anything related to holding a gun, though. I'm sick of that, now. Bullets and I are too familiar with each other," he chuckled a little, patting his chest with a shake of his head. "I dunno what I can do, though." Sam mimicked his position, leaning against the counter with a carrot stick in her own hand. They stayed in companionable silence for a few minutes, until Sam shouted out. John started, immediately leaping to the defense.

"Medical school! John, you could be a doctor!" John studied his sister silently, after making sure the room was safe from potential threats, and raised a brow. "Well, I mean, you were your team's medic... You liked it, didn't you?" John nodded absently, staring at her earnest, bright face. "Yeah? Then why don't you give it a shot? It'd give you something to do while you watched over Jim... Plus, you'd be putting yourself to good use. You can never have too many brilliant doctors. You've got enough time to become one of those, John!"

That was exactly how Doctor Leonard McCoy came into being.

True to her word, John found that he enjoyed his classes, enjoyed learning about the human (or not so human, depending on the class and the day) body. It took years to become good and took even more time to become _great_. Truth be told, John wished he could have kept his name because he _never_ referred to himself as Leonard McCoy, but Sam had insisted on a persona ("Just like Superman, John." "If someone calls me Superman _one more time_... At least make up a new superhero name for me, Sam. It's the least you can do, since you injected me with the damn C-24." "How about..." "Okay, you know what? Drop the superhero names." "Oh, come on, John! I'll even make your costume for you!" "Damn it, Sam! I'm gonna be a doctor, not a goddamn superhero!" "Could'a fooled _me_.") to protect himself.

He occasionally made the trip up to Riverside, Iowa to check up on Jim, who had been getting himself into more and more trouble. John couldn't understand it, he didn't know why Jim was doing it to himself. In the time that he'd known the kid, John _had_ come to see that he was a genius. Why wasn't he using it to his advantage? Why wasn't he wowing the world with his intelligence? John mentally berated himself on not being there for Jim, not being there to push him into doing _something_ with his life.

However, as it turned out, John was there for one opportunity; one opportunity that would change both of their lives forever.

The bar was packed, mostly with red uniformed cadets getting ready to go to Starfleet Academy the next day. It was loud, flashy and just what John needed to wind down. He was only up in Iowa for a few days and he hadn't found Jim yet. He was kind of worried, since it usually didn't take him long to locate the kid._ Gotta put one of those trackers in him so I don't lose him. Damn kid is making this so much harder on my old bones._

"Hey, farm boy! Maybe you can't count. There are four of us and one of you!" 

"Get some more guys and then it'll be an even fight."  Apparently, the kid was still struggling with the 'no fighting' concept. John felt his smile descend into a frown at warp speed and watched with disappointment as his work with Jim came crashing down at the same time Jim's face made contact with the floor. He sighed deeply and watched with a shake of his head as the huge cadet really laid into him. It only stopped when the one and only Captain Christopher Pike (good _God_, was that _really_ Pike? He was so much older than when John had met him, aboard the _Kelvin_) broke the fight up. He ordered everyone out, but John stayed stubbornly stayed in his seat and waited for Pike to meet his eyes.  

He just tipped his glass of iced orange juice towards Pike in a half-assed salute when the captain's eyes widened at him. As Jim recovered himself, Pike walked over to John slowly, as if he thought John was just a hallucination and would disappear at any moment. "John Grimm?" John just shook his head slightly. 

"It's Doctor Leonard McCoy now, Sir." If possible, Pike's eyes widened even more. 

"God... I never made the connection that... He was _you_." 

"Mmm, heard of me, have you?" 

"You could say that. Starfleet is practically pining for you, you know that?" 

"Huh... I haven't gotten a request to join yet." He made his voice completely casual and shrugged. He snuck a glance to the barely sitting up Jim Kirk and shook his head. 

"Consider this a request, then. Making good on your promise, McCoy?" The last name sounded odd on Pike's lips and both men grimaced.  

"I fucking hate that name, you know." 

"Then why'd you–?" 

"Sam's idea." 

"Ah."

"But yes. I'm here for him. Stupid, idiot kid. I got shot for him and _this_ is the thanks I get?"

Pike shook his head slowly, disappointment shining in his eyes as well.  "I know. I'm going to try..." 

"Yeah, well, good luck." 

"... Good to see you again, John. You look... Good." Both men laughed and John downed his orange juice. 

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you think so. I'll be stuck like this for a long time."

Pike certainly took his time in talking to Jim and it was obvious the kid wasn't interested when Christopher left. He stayed silent for a while after the captain left and then only broke the silence to shout, "Can I get another one?"  The bartender was hesitating, that much obvious, so John grinned at him.

"Two orange juices, please. I'll get it to him." When the orange juice was set own in front of him, Jim began to protest until John straddled the chair that Pike had recently vacated. "You're an idiot, kid." Jim stared at him like he was an idiot. 

"Who th' _hell_ are _you_? You look... Familiar." Honestly, John was a bit surprised that Jim didn't recognize him. All that alcohol must have killed more than a few brain cells. 

"No one important. Just thought you'd like to know that you're turning down an offer that a lot of people would _kill_ to get." Jim just laughed, shook his head and pushed away the offending orange juice that had been placed in front of him. 

"Not me, man. I'm fine the way I am."

"What, getting your face broken every night? C'mon, kid, you can do better than _that_." His heart was hurting, the smile was slowly draining away from his face. Jim _had_ to listen, he had to.  

_"Guide him."_

 _This is for you, George. You'd better appreciate it. _

"I said, I'm _fine_."

"You're not fine and you know it." John was completely serious and Jim was sobering a bit, too. 

"If you're so eager for me to go, why don't _you_ fly off to Starfleet?"

"Actually, I just got a request to join, just like you and _I'm_ going to be the smart one and take it." Jim laughed again and shook his head. John just stared at him and sighed heavily.

"Kid, you can be so much more if you put your mind to it. _Anyone_ can. That Captain Pike obviously thinks you've got what it takes, so what's stopping you?"

 "Honestly? Too much work." That... Was disappointing. Jim was going to ignore Starfleet because he felt like it was too much work? John sighed and ran a hand through his hair, staring bleakly at the young man in front of him. 

"No parent is going to be proud of a delinquent son, kid. Make something out of your life." He stood up and Jim saluted him with his untouched orange juice glass.

"Don't be an idiot."

"Yeah, nice talking to you too, asshole."   With a heavy heart and heavy step, John left Jim Kirk behind. 

_"Guide him. Promise me you'll guide him."_

_I'm sorry, George. I tried. I really, really tried._

* * *

The moment John stepped on that shuttle to find Jim Kirk sitting next to him was one of the brightest moments in his life. The kid groaned, however, when he realized who he was sitting next to. "_You_ again?"

"You actually remember me?"

"Yeah, you're the douche that gave me orange juice instead of beer." John chuckled a little, reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask of his best bourbon. He drank from it and passed it to Jim, trying his best not to break into one crazy fucking grin right then and there. Jim tipped his flask at him in a salute.

"Jim Kirk." John drank the sight of Jim in as he took a gulp of the alcohol, noting every feature that belonged to George and the others that belonged to Winona and the traits that were just _Jim_. Namely the bruises on his face and the blood spatter on his shirt. He nodded at Jim.

"McCoy. Leonard McCoy."

_"Stay with him. Promise me you won't let him out of your sight."_

_Jesus, George. I'm gonna be a student too, you know. I can't __**always**__ look out for him._

_"Promise me. Promise me."_

_Okay, jeez. I promise._ And of course, John didn't let Jim out of his sight. Once off of the shuttle, he grabbed a hold of the kid and proceeded to drag him to his dorm while informing him impatiently and gruffly that he _was_ a doctor, damn it, and that Jim needed to be fixed up. While John's fingers probed Jim's face, he could see the childish innocence that he'd once been captivated by. Of course, that came with the squirming and protesting.

"Hold_ still_!" Just like the old days. And, for some reason, Jim didn't really seem to mind. In fact, in the first day of knowing him, Jim gave John a whole new name, one that he _actually_ liked just as much as he liked his name to be John Grimm. Bones. It was an echo of his old nickname, Reaper, but it was... Better. Mainly because Jim had named him that, and because it was short for Sawbones, a doctor.

Throughout the three years in the Academy, it was Jim and Bones, Bones and Jim. John was busy keeping his promise to George. He busied himself at the hospital, in classes, patching up Jim's broken pieces and fixing everything up again. _I __**am**__ a goddamned superhero. Where's Sam with her costume and name ideas when you need her?_ He kept Jim safe, he protected him, he stayed with him through thick and thin. John didn't even realize when he stopped doing it for George and when he started doing it because he _wanted_ to, but it wasn't something he let himself dwell on too much.

It _might_ have been the day Jim unpacked in his dorm and had called Bones over to help. He had all of two boxes full of clothes and PADDS and it was normal until John pulled out an old, dusty helmet and felt his throat constrict. "Some idiot of a cop saved me when I was little. Jumped in front of a crazy guy with a gun. I kept that because... Well, he kind of helped me a lot. I can't even remember his face now... That's the last thing he had. I just can't believe he took a bullet for me. That takes some fucking guts." When Bones pulled Jim into a hug, Jim didn't question him.

"I'm glad he did, Jim. I'm glad he did."

Jim's only response was to chuckle and hold John tighter to him. "Yeah, I'm glad you did, too."

It went like that for three years. They had their good days and their bad days, especially the day of Jim's hearing after he cheated on the Kobayashi Maru test. John couldn't take more than eighteen steps away from Jim before he turned right back around and smuggled him onto the shuttle heading for the _Enterprise_. He was there with Jim, jabbing hypos in to the kid's neck to counterpoint some awful allergic reaction (_only_ _Jim, _he thought with a scowl, _only Jim_). He was there, taking the blame while Jim, Christopher Pike and Spock had a rousing little shouting match.

He was there when Spock kicked him out of the ship and he _ripped_ into that damn green-blooded hobgoblin like a hormonal girlfriend for booting Jim out to God knows where. He was there when Jim and Spock made their plan to go on an idiotic suicide mission (if John pulled Jim out of the room for just a second to hold him close and demand that Jim come back in one piece, no one mentioned it) and he was there to catch Jim and Captain Pike when they both stumbled off of the transporter pad. "Jim!" The name of his best friend left John's lungs in a whoosh of air, somewhere between a curse and a prayer; between an admission of love and a slap to the face.

He was there for the ceremony where Jim finally got named Captain of the _Enterprise, _but he wasn't the only one there.

Jim turned to the cadets in the room after shaking Pike's hand, smiling just a little with his blue eyes shining.

_"Keep him safe."_

_"I promise."_

John clapped slowly, nodding at Jim with his own eyes brimming over with tears of joy and pride. That was his_ best friend _up there.

_"Guide him."_

_"I promise."_

The sun was shining bright on all of them, glimmering most of all on Jim who looked like he was either about to faint or shout his joy to the high heavens. Bones really hoped it would be the latter.

_"Stay with him."_

_"I promise."_

When they all began to mill around after the ceremony, John had an armful of Jim before he could really react. "You did it!" John exclaimed and Jim's laugh was breathless and overjoyed in his ear. If Bones picked him up and swung him around, no one complained.

"We did it! I'm going to be captain and _you're_ going to be my CMO, Bones. No backing out now, old man!"

"I know," John replied with a smile. Jim pressed his forehead to John's.

"Good."

"I'll follow you anywhere."

"I know."

"Good."

_"Love him, because I couldn't."_

Their eyes were as warm as the summer and the sun smiled down on the two of them, warming them with the gentle kiss of a father's love.

_"I can do that."_


	2. Understanding

Title: Understanding

Author: drpepperupper

Characters: Kirk/Reaper!McCoy

Fandom: Doom/Star Trek crossover

Rating: R

Warnings: Just swearing

Notes: This is a sequel to 'Promise Me'. I have a feeling this is going to be an on-going thing, seeing as I'm not even remotely through with it yet. I don't know how many parts this will have, but this is the second one! This is a bit more angsty, because I'm not in the best mood. Moving TOMORROW, so I'll be writing in the car and such, to keep my mind off things and keep me busy. But yeah... Enjoy?

OH about the doctor scene. I may or may not be right about the whole 'washing the blood, weight, etc away', but I do know my dad feels that way when he loses a patient. The idea with Jim and Bones comes from me watching my mother do the same thing for my dad, so it's a personal connection and I could just see Jim and Bones in the same position as my mom and my dad.

* * *

How did you do it, George? John dropped his head and closed his eyes as the blood ran away from his hands under the merciless spray of water. _How did you sacrifice yourself for them? How does anyone do it?_ It had been a horrifying sight... Another day, another Redshirt dead on his table, but this time the man wasn't on there for some stupid reason.

_How do you love someone so much? I don't understand it._ The guy (_oh, God, I don't even know his __**name**_) jumped in between his fiance and a collapsing beam in Engineering. The whole ship was in disarray because of those goddamn Klingons that had apparently decided they had a problem with Captain James T. Kirk.

He pushed her away just in time and died with her name on his lips, not stopping until his heart stopped beating. John's heart had broke the moment he gently pulled the engagement ring off of his cold finger and read the inscription. _He loved her 'til the day he died_. That damn day had come sooner than that poor boy had expected and the _girl_, oh, the girl... She ran out of the Sickbay quicker than John could get a sedative into her system.

They had yet to find her.

_How did he __**do**__ it?_ John didn't even have the ability to sacrifice himself like that for someone. He would just heal and be fine _again_ and damn it, he _wanted_ the option of dying for someone. Somehow, John had the idea that dying for someone like the man he just lost had done for his fiance would make his whole life, his existence, mean so much more. He _wanted_ to have a choice to save someone by giving up his own life. He'd tried that with Jim years ago, but here he was; good as new. This guy, this _really_ good guy; he had died for his girl because he loved her that much. John wanted to know what that was _like_. It wasn't the first person he had lost on the five year mission and John wasn't surprised to find out that losing a patient _never_ got any easier.

Leonard McCoy, CMO. He was the CMO on the _Enterprise_. 'Course, it wasn't too surprising, since Jim was captain and had practically demanded Bones be on his ship. John hadn't complained; his promise to George was still there. Plus, no other doctor could handle Jim Kirk, to be honest. Jim himself had used that as an argument to get him his Bones.

It had been the argument that had Bones boarding the ship with the rest of his medical team, but that wasn't really too surprising, either.

_"Keep him safe."_ John rolled his eyes at his so called 'George Kirk-voice', the one inside of his head that kept repeating his plea for John to keep Jim safe, protect him at all costs, stay with him and love him. John did all of them and Jim accepted it, though he never knew why. The kid had remembered him from his childhood, he remembered the face and the name John, the stupid, idiot cop that had thrown himself in front of a bullet to protect him.

Somehow, Jim had silently made some kind of connection about Bones and John the first year at the Academy, the moment that John had seen his old police helmet still in Jim's possession.

_"I'm glad he saved you, Jim. I'm glad he did."_

_"Yeah, I'm glad you did, too."_

It hadn't really been surprising and Jim hadn't said another word about it until about a year later, so John assumed that he was okay and didn't need to plan another impromptu death. There had been a time that Jim had attempted to question him about it, had breached the silence on both of their parts. To his question, John had answered, blunt and honest.

_"Jim, I'll tell you everything you want to know."_

_"Oh, cool, really?"_

_"I'll tell you everything you want to know if you want me to leave."_

_"Wait... What?"_

_"If you ask me, I'll tell you everything. Then I'll have to leave, you understand? So, think carefully. If your curiosity is killing you and you __**need**__ to know, ask. I won't lie, but there won't be a trace of me in the morning."_

_"I'd find you."_

_"No, you wouldn't, kid. I'm good at hiding."_

_"You don't have to hide from me."_

_"I ain't hiding from you, Jim. But I'd have to hide from the world, and you're part of the world." _

_"I'm not part of the world."_

_"Sure you aren't, kid. You gonna ask or not?"_

_In reply, Jim just grabbed his PADD and proceeded to study for a test they both knew he'd ace without needing to look over his notes._

"Doctor McCoy!" John's head automatically snapped towards the voice, looking back towards the main room of Medical Bay. Chapel was running in and she looked frantic, which was enough to send alarm bells ringing in his head. She only used that term when someone was dying or when it directly related to Jim... Or _both_. John growled, a rumbling sound deep in his chest as he pulled on some gloves over his previously blood-free hands. _Jim, you idiot, what have you done now?_

"Chapel, what's wrong?" John barked at her as he strode quickly across Medical Bay as a few other people bustled in. Christine didn't relax when she saw John as she usually would. Instead, she looked paler than normal and he could tell that her breathing was close to hyperventilating. A flash of protectiveness surged through him as he took in her wide-eyed blue stare and blond hair. _She looks like Sam_... "Christine, are you hurt?" He watched as she flinched at the use of her first name, but she shook her head.

"Doctor McCoy, it's not me, it's–" She didn't get to finish because a new person came striding in.

"Jim!" It _was_ Jim, but it was obvious Jim wasn't the one hurt. The first thing John noticed was not the body in his captain's arms, but the vibrant red running over his hands. "Oh, my God. What...?" John finally looked away from Jim, turning his already bloodshot eyes to the body in his arms. "No..."

Jim was breathing hard, hurrying over with Bones at his side, distributing the too-still young woman on a nearby biobed. "I went looking for her, soon as I heard about Jesse. Ensign Carlton..." John was already moving around the girl, running his hands (almost too fast) down and around her body, preferring to work by touch and sight, not just technology. Plus, Christine was already scanning the girl with a tricorder.

"She's trying to kill herself," Christine screeched, hands shaking as she took in the appearance of the young woman. Jim looked mildly uncomfortable where he was standing which was saying a lot, considering James T. Kirk looked at home wherever the hell he was.

"Jim, get out of here," John barked at his friend as he applied pressure to the wounds on her wrists that she'd inflicted upon herself. "How's the pulse?" He glanced at Jim again, the silent question burning in his dark eyes.

"Look, Bones, I don't _know_ how long she's been like this. I just found her!"

"Okay, Jim, thanks. Get out now." This time, Jim actually took John's advice as John turned his full attention on the young woman on the biobed. "She's lost so much blood," he growled. He estimated that she had done this after she had left Medical Bay which had been... Well, hell, _too_ long ago. "Chapel! Focus!" He barked at his nurse, moving with impressive speed to wrap her wounds in bandages, noting with a grimace how cold he was and how slow her pulse was.

Why did this feel so familiar?

_"Let's get this vest off him!"_

"C'mon, get the uniform off! I think she's hurt herself somewhere else." John had to fight hard not to lose what little food he had left in his stomach when he saw the _real_ damage. "Jesus Christ!" His hands prodding at the... Well, if John had to guess, it was some kind of _acid_ or poison eating her stomach from the inside out. "Oh, my God. How did she...?" Even if he was able to keep his stomach from rebelling, most of his medical team didn't. Chapel looked like she was going to faint and there were pale faces frozen in shock looking down at the prone woman laying on the biobed.

_How does someone do this, George?_ Even as John worked frantically with the regenerator and as he tried flushing out the poison in her system, he couldn't even begin to understand why the poor girl had decided to do this to herself. Within seconds, the medical team surrounding the quickly fading young woman was a confusing blur of white coats and shouts, of blood and tears and trembling hands at the sight of a second friend dying. John didn't need to be a doctor to know that no matter how hard he tried, he was going to lose another patient. It didn't dull the bitter taste nor did it slow his fast beating heart.

Why did this feel so familiar?

_"How's the pulse?"_

"Got a weak pulse."

_"Okay, let's defib!"_

"Clear!"

_"C'mon, you son of a bitch."_

"We're losing her!"

_"Clear!"_

"Sam–uh, Chapel, get me a shot of adrenaline!"

_"Going again. Clear!"_

In the medical world, there was nothing worse than the sound of a flat line. Chapel was white-faced and trembling as she called out the time of death. "We lost her."

_"He's gone."_ John reached over and switched off the monitor and stared down grimly at the young woman. Christine was sobbing into her hands; apparently, she had been a friend of the couple and was taking the deaths very hard. John walked away from his team for just a moment, loading up a hypo filled with a sedative. He didn't hesitate to jab the thing into Christine's arm and catch her as she fell. It wouldn't do for her to be awake while she was just processing the idea of two of her friends dying within a few hours of each other.

As he deposited her on the farthest biobed from the young woman, he couldn't help but ask again, how can someone die for someone? _How do they make that kind of sacrifice?_ He watched Christine for a moment longer and shook his head sadly. She was definitely going to need a few days of leave with someone watching her. _Closely_. John liked the woman and he wasn't about to lose her to some crazy depression. _How did you do it, George?_ Why, _yes_, he did consider himself certifiably insane for talking to a voice in his head. It made it _that_ much worse when the voice _talked back_.

_"You'll understand."_ Well, that wasn't very helpful. John sighed and sat heavily in the chair beside Chapel's bed and threw his head in his hands, ignoring the way blood smeared across his face as his tired body heaved in gasps that _did not_ resemble anything close to crying. He couldn't wrap his mind around having lost _two_ patients in _one_ day, one day when his Medical Bay was almost _empty_.

While John was aware that he was not, in fact, God and that he didn't have control over mortality but he felt disgusted with himself. The crew put their lives in his hands _daily_. They _trusted_ him to make the right calls, to save their goddamned _lives_. Whenever he couldn't do that, he knew he was letting them down. He knew that every time someone died on his table, a little of the faith the crew put in him went out the window with the soul he'd just lost.

He had lost two souls. They'd flown out of his hands, into the stars. Even now, the stars twinkled at him, mocked him with their happy facade. _Can't fool me_, he thought. _Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence. Can't fool me_, he mocked right back, avoiding the stars' piercing gazes that cut him through to his core, exposing the fear and the disappointment for everyone to see.

He didn't have any sense of how much time had passed before soft, gentle hands were tugging him into a standing position and wrapping around him in a comforting embrace. "Leonard. Oh, Leonard..." Somehow, Nyota Uhura's voice was exactly the one he wanted to hear; soothing and quiet like a mother shushing a child after a horrible nightmare. She didn't try to tell him that it was okay. She didn't try to tell him that he had done his best. She just held him, ignoring the blood on his hands and face as he held back onto her for dear life. Another warm hand joined his body, pressing between his shoulder blades in an oddly comforting gesture.

It was only when he caught sight of Jim standing in the doorway of Medical Bay that he extracted himself from Nyota's embrace and Spock's warm hand on his back. Normally, he would have chewed the Vulcan out, but it was touching enough that Spock had come down with Nyota and had participated in comforting him. John couldn't stand much more of it. Plus, Christine would be waking up any minute and he didn't want her to see him being comforted when she had just lost two friends.

Jim walked over when John sat back down to keep vigil over Chapel and clapped his hand down on John's shoulder, albeit a bit gentler than usual. "C'mon Bones, let's go." But John just shook his head stubbornly, gesturing at Christine. He was not going to leave her, no way, not when there were potentially dangerous hypos and scalpels she could use on herself or...

"We'll stay with her," Nyota offered, gently tugging on John's scrubs to get him to stand up and when that didn't help, both Nyota and Spock practically lifted John up, much to his surprise. If he let out an unprofessional, undignified squawk of protest, nobody laughed. He spat a few insults halfheartedly at the green-blooded, pointy eared hobgoblin bastard, shook his head at Nyota and pleaded with his eyes at Jim. Jim was having none of it.

"Doctor McCoy. You need to come with me. It's been a hard day and you _need_ rest." He grabbed onto Bones' arm and pulled him closer while Nyota and Spock pointedly looked elsewhere. "It's over. They're dead. Stop being so fucking _strong_, Bones." John almost snorted at that. _Jim_, he thought with a mental head shake, _you have __**no**__ idea_. He didn't feel strong now, though. In fact, he felt more powerless than he'd felt in a _long_ time. "Let Uhura and Spock help her when she wakes up. You're tired and you look awful. Don't make me order you to come with me, Bones, because you know I will." It wasn't an empty threat, so Bones just nodded and stumbled against Jim when the overeager kid threw John's arm over his shoulders and held his arm there. Jim threw his other arm around John's waist and dragged him out of Medical Bay before John could even say thank you to Nyota and say another insulting comment to Spock.

"Jim, I'swear, if that Vulcan bastard does any of his mind fu–" John swallowed the word at the look he got from Jim, "... mind f–finagling," he could almost hear Jim's silent _good save_, "on Christine, I'll..."

"Bones, shut up," Jim said, not unkindly, as he keyed in the code to the captain's quarters and ushered John in, settling him down on the couch and ordering the lights down. "Oh, Bones..." John had to close his eyes against the sigh, willing himself not to see any pity on Jim's face.

"I screwed up, Jim." He heard Jim moving away, heard a sink running and he still spoke. "I lost a man on the table today _and_ I lost his fiance." He dropped his head into his arms resting on his knees. "What sane crew member would want to have me as their doctor _now_? What the _hell_ am I doing out here, Jim? I _hate_ space."

_"Keep him safe. Promise me, John. You promised."_ Oh, yeah. He was here because of _that_. He kept his forehead in his head even when he heard Jim walk up in front of him and stop.

"I'm not strong, Jim. Not now. Not this time." It was the hardest thing he ever had to say, and yet it was so easy to admit to Jim. He couldn't be so strong this time. He had two people's blood on his hands and blood from an innocent girl taking her own life on his face. No medical training he'd ever received had taught him how to deal with that. He had known it would be hard to lose patients, but this was _different_. _He_ had sacrificed himself for _her_, and _she_ had killed _herself_ because _she_ couldn't live without _him_. If that wasn't screwed up, then John didn't know up from down.

He took one of his hands away from his face and opened it to Jim, displaying the two rings he had taken from the couple's fingers. John drew in a shaky breath as Jim slowly took them away from him and set them down with a little _clink_ on the table near the couch. Warm, sold hands grasped John's fingers and gently pulled John's remaining hand away from his face. John kept his face averted, aware of the intense stare he was getting but he found himself unable to return it. _Not strong at all, Jim. You really do have no idea_. "Bones," Jim whispered, his voice accompanied with a wet sloshing sound. John waited in silence and jumped a little when a warm cloth dragged over the skin of one hand.

"Bones, you're the best goddamn doctor Starfleet has."

"Two patients, Jim, and not even an alien race beaming aboard the _Enterprise_ to take us over. That's not the best doctor."

"You win some, you lose some, Bones," Jim replied patiently, which was really weird in itself since Jim wasn't exactly known for his patience, as he gently washed the blood off of John's hand.

"This ain't a game, Jim Kirk. I lost Ensign Carlton and I lost his fiance because of that. These are _lives_. I couldn't save their _lives_." Jim just made a noncommittal noise as he moved from John's left hand to his right. They were both silent for a time, until John felt the need to point out, "You know, washing blood off of a doctor's hand..." The symbolism wasn't lost on John, nor was it lost on Jim, apparently. Washing blood away was washing the burden of a life away and John hadn't been able to bring himself to do it yet. Yet Jim had figured it out. Here he was, helping wash the blood, the memory, the _weight_ of it all away.

"If you're not strong enough to carry this burden yourself tonight, the least I can do is help you shoulder it. You're a doctor, Bones. You shouldn't have to carry the weight of the world on your back." If John were a weaker man, he would have kissed Jim. Instead, he just nodded absently and continued to look to the ground, even as his hands were released. John just stared into the small bucket Jim had filled with lukewarm water, tinted with red from blood on the cloth.

If he could fool himself into thinking the red was from food coloring, he would say that it was almost pretty.

"Bones, look at me." He could hear Jim talking, but it sounded so soft, so far away... John could almost ignore it. "Bones! Look at me, damn it, and that's an _order_!" Dark eyes snapped up to stare defiantly into the intense, worried eyes of his best friend. "Don't hide from me, Bones. Don't do this to m–yourself, because you don't deserve this. Don't hide. You're upset right now, I understand that. You don't have to hide this."

_"I ain't hiding from you, Jim. But I'd have to hide from the world, and you're part of the world." _

_"I'm not part of the world."_

Looking at the wild creature that was his very best friend in front of him, it was almost too easy to believe. His best friend was as flighty as wind blowing through tall grass. His best friend was as powerful as a hurricane, destroying walls as he blew into someone's life. His best friend was as calming as warm sun on a late July day while sipping some Georgia-sweetened iced tea with Sam. His best friend was as elusive as lightning, there one moment and gone the next, singing the fingertips of anyone who dared to try and hold onto him. His best friend was as bright as the stars they were passing, all twinkling eyes and burning intensity.

"Ain't hiding from you, Jim. Never could hide anything from you, anyway, you goddamned nosey son of a bitch." Jim smiled at him and dunked the cloth back into the water. He hesitated, glancing uneasily up at Bones' face and John understood what he was asking. All John could do was shuck off his blood soaked uniform shirt and lean forward a bit to make it easier for Jim, but Jim just pushed him back.

"Let me do this. I need to do this," the _for you_ was left unsaid, thank God, because if it had been said, John wouldn't have been able to keep himself under control. After all, his vision was already blurry and he didn't want to risk acting like a bawling child within proximity of his captain. He flinched backwards when Jim climbed on the couch and stared at Bones with that unreadable, concentrated gaze he got when he was actually studying back at the Academy or getting ready for a potentially dangerous away mission. "Don't close your eyes."

Then, with gentle precision that could rival a surgeon's, Jim wiped away the blood on John's face. Each stroke of the warm cloth washed away the grime on his face and he couldn't help but think of Sam. If they hadn't been beamed aboard the _Kelvin_, would she have done this for him? Would he have _let_ her? It almost felt natural to let Jim help him like he was, eyes trained on every twitch that John made, pausing for a nod of approval before gently wiping another streak of blood away.

For a long time, there was nothing but himself, Jim and the cloth. John felt the relief in each soft, warm stroke over his face. It didn't stop for a long time, not even after John was pretty sure all the blood had been cleaned away. Jim was still methodically washing away anything that was left on John's face, and if a bit of salt water mixed in with the warm tap water on his face, neither of them said anything. It was just Jim, washing away the pain with just a warm cloth and replacing it with the feeling of relief and weightlessness.

_"Love him, because I couldn't," _George had said and John was finding it alarmingly easy to do that.

As Jim dragged the cloth over John's skin, he spoke. "I remember the first patient you lost at the Academy. I was there, you know? I was in the bed next to her's, when you brought her in." John jerked a little in surprise and opened his mouth to speak, only to have Jim cut across him. "You didn't see me. We didn't really know each other then, anyway, but I remembered you. I watched you, Bones. I watched you try to save her, even after everyone else stopped trying." The cloth stilled on John's cheek, catching the moisture just below his eyes. "You just kept working. It was like you didn't see any of the other doctors because when they tried to get you to stop, you just... You know. Kept on going." John did remember that. His mind had gone back to the moment when they were losing Goat, how he had refused to stop until they were sure he wan't going to live.

"I couldn't believe it was _you_, Bones. You weren't the same drunk, raving backwoods country person with a fear of space. You tried so hard to save her," Jim's hand went back to the soothing movements on his skin, cloth as light as a feather against John's skin. "I watched you after that. You went to go clean up and you just stood at the washing station for a long time." Jim drew the cloth away from John's face and wiped his hands once more, just to be sure. "I wanted to help, you know? I'd always thought that doctors had it easy. Not like I really knew, 'cause I never went to the doctor anyway. But Bones?" John looked morosely up at Jim, lips and hands trembling at the memories, of the blood he could still feel running through his hands like quicksilver. He had tried _so_ hard to hold onto it and it had slipped anyway.

"Even though you couldn't save her then and you couldn't save them today, I still know my ship is lucky to have you on her. You take good care of us, man. Don't doubt yourself because of something _you_ can't control." He looked at John for a long time before he spoke again. "Tell me what you're thinking about."

"I can't." If John's voice broke on the last syllable, only one of them flinched.

"Take a leap of faith, Bones." John just exhaled shakily and shook his head again.

"I can't jump so far and risk so much." Jim was wise to keep silent after that. Finally, he stilled beside John and they were content just to breathe next to each other for a moment. If John reached over to put two of his fingers on Jim's pulse on his wrist, Jim didn't make a move to pull away. If Jim did the same thing to John, well, it didn't bother him. "We got any bourbon?" John asked finally, taking his fingers away from Jim's wrist and Jim did the same thing. There was a tenderness in Jim's usually too-cocky grin as he stood up.

"Not a chance, old man. We're breaking out the _strong_ stuff." John resisted the urge to ask what Jim thought was _strong_ stuff, though he guessed it had to do something with whiskey or something. He didn't know what to do or say when a big jug of orange juice was placed on the table in front of him with an ice tray and two glasses. When John turned his questioning, amazed gaze on Jim, the angel in a man's body just shrugged. When he said the words, "Never underestimate a hero Starfleet captain, Doctor McCoy. Now drink your damn orange juice," John never loved anybody more in his life.

He knew that his back and neck were going to scream at him in the morning, but John couldn't get himself to remove the snoring captain that was practically pinning him to the couch. Instead, he just leaned his head back and fell asleep to his own singing; humming a song his momma had sung to him when he was little.

"Your memory's the sunshine every new day brings

I know the sky is calling

Angel, let me help you with your wings."

John still didn't understand how someone could die for someone else, but he felt like he was getting a little closer to the answer.

_"You'll understand."_

_Yeah. Thanks, George._ 

* * *

"Jim! Jim, stop!" John shouted at the retreating form of his captain as he chased Jim through the corridors of his own ship. Why did this feel so familiar?

_"Jim! I'm not kidding! You need to keep your heart rate down!"_

"Damn it, Jim, stop running!"

_"Damn it, Jim, stand still!"_ Just like that last time, John caught up with Jim, grabbed the collar of his shirt and sent him flying into the wall in his desperation to stop him. The both of them breathed harshly, Jim struggling to get out of John's iron grip. John just gripped his shoulders and pressed him against the wall.

"Bones, let me go! They _need_ me. They need my help!"

"Yeah, and whose bright idea was to send a bunch of Redshirts down to a potentially hostile planet?"

"Well, I don't really know..." Jim's expression turned stormy as he fought against John with renewed fervor. "Let me go, damn it! I ord–"  

"It's a fucking blood bath down there, Jim! You'd get _killed_!"   

"My men down there _are_ getting killed, that's why I need to go." But John was strong in his hold and his belief. He was not going to let Jim go down there, there was simply _no way_.   

"Send someone else, Jim, anyone else! This is your ship. The rest of your crew needs you," he tried to reason with the thrashing captain, more than glad that the rest of the crew was busy and not currently in the hall they were in. He would have been ashamed to have other people hear his pleading with Jim.   

"Who else would I send, Bones? Spock? No, he's needed here, too. _I'm_ the captain, _I_ need to take care of _my_ crew!"   

"Send. Someone. Else," John ordered in a clipped tone, glaring at Jim and refusing to let him go.  

"Who?" Jim's patience was long gone and his mind was so one-tracked that he didn't notice John's pointed silence until a minute later. "Whoa. Whoa, whoa, _whoa_, Bones. No! No _way_. You're a doctor! A doctor that almost failed his hand-to-hand class," he spoke slowly, as if Bones was senile and he had to explain it to him.   _Jim_, he thought again, _you have __**no**__ idea_.

"Jim..." He growled, shaking Jim roughly.

"You're not going down there."  

"Oh, and you think _you_ are?" John breathed slowly, containing himself, containing the rebellious soldier within him. _Reaper_. Reaper was dead long ago. He was dead the moment John sat in front of George Kirk over a big glass of iced orange juice. John could feel the cage rattling, though, and he supposed it was time to let Reaper come out and play.   

"I know I am."  

"Don't you dare, Bones. Don't you _dare_. I'm _ordering_ you to–"  

"Go down there instead of my captain, try to save as many lives as I can while my captain stays safe aboard his ship? Okay. Orders received," he pinched down on Jim's neck, watching with detached almost-amusement as his captain slumped bonelessly down to the floor. "Orders received and understood. Grimm out."  He walked away and didn't look back.   

Scotty was more than surprised to see John stride onto the transporter pad as if it was the most natural thing to do. The Scotsman just gaped as John scowled at him. "Uh... Was expectin' the captain, not you, doctor," he said slowly as his hands worked over the controls. John just snorted and shrugged, grasping Jim's phaser (which felt like a goddamn _water gun_ compared to the only other gun he used to lug around) tighter.   

"You'd be surprised to know what I can do with a few well-aimed hyposprays," he quipped, and neither of them made any comment about the _lack_ of hyposprays in the doctor's hands. "Just beam me down there, Scotty."  

_Is this what you meant, George? Walking away and doing something stupid just to protect someone?_  

Of course, this time, there was no answer. 

* * *

Whoever said that when entering a battlefield, everything was in slow motion and clear as day had obviously _never_ seen anything _close_ to a war.   

Once John was beamed down to the surface of the hostile planet that the away team had been sent to, he hit the ground and rolled quickly out of pure instinct. It was a good thing he did, since there were shouts from the inhabitants of the planet and before he could really think, he was under fire as well.  

Apparently, these people didn't take well to Starfleet personnel. John already had an idea what to expect because _really_, what were the odds of a bunch of Redshirts surviving under fire from pissed off inhabitants? They were good shots, too, John noticed. He grimaced as a few rounds of fire blasted off near him, catching him in the hip and shoulder, drawing blood and making him hiss. The weapons that were being used weren't energy blasts, they felt like... Guns and bullets, something that John, being an ex-marine and all, was quite familiar with.   

He'd forgotten how much the fuckers _hurt_, though.   

Once he was temporarily out of the line of fire, John took a few moments to look at his surroundings. The land around him wasn't exactly barren, but there weren't a lot of places for him to hide behind. There were a few boulders here and there, like the one he was currently taking refuge behind and there was some vegetation, but other than that there was barely anything. _It could be called some kind of a desert_, John mused with a mental shrug, entirely too relaxed for the current situation. The air was hot and heavy and made John tired rapidly. He glanced around for any signs of Jim's away team and grimaced when he saw a few strips of red material not too far away from him.  

Jesus, who _were_ these people and why did they hate Starfleet so much?   

Without skipping a beat, John flipped his comm. open and began to breathlessly report back to the ship. He could hear some commotion on the other side, namely Jim's voice shouting orders or obscenities at his crew for some reason or another. He chimed in and spoke. "This is J–" For a moment, John flailed mentally around his name, stumbling over his birth name and the persona he'd slipped into. He covered up his slip with a very Bones-ish exclamation of, "Jesus Christ," as some more shots were fired at him.  

"These people don't appreciate us comin' in here," he shouted into his comm. as he popped up from behind his boulder hiding place momentarily. "I see very little evidence of your away team, but there is some red material around here," he continued, voice as clipped as it had once been, made perfect by his years as a Marine, before the C-24; before his whole mess of a life. "The people down here are humanoid, I _think, _as far as I can tell. They're kind of purple-colored, though..."  

"Bones!" Oh, _damn_, that was Jim's voice. He didn't sound happy. "Bones, what the _hell_? You disobeyed my orders! You're putting yourself in _danger_!" Sure, thanks, Captain Obvious. John knew exactly what he was doing and the slight note of pleading in Jim's voice wasn't helping make his decision any easier.   

"Jim, I can't exactly talk right now. I'm trying to stay alive." Liar. Liar. _Liar_. John had put down the phaser and was beginning to prepare himself for the pain to come. He was going to do this; he was going to make sure no one came down to the planet. If a completely innocent doctor was killed, who in their right minds would beam down? _Jim_ would, but he was never in his right mind anyway, thought John with a grimace. He could only hope that the pointy eared bastard could talk him down.  

Plus, it was about time the persona of Leonard Horatio McCoy was put to rest.  As it seemed, John Grimm might cease to exist too, if his attackers had anything to say about it.   

"Bones, we're getting you out of there. Just hold still and keep your comm. on, okay?" Well, to _hell_ with that plan. The rock he was hiding behind was getting torn to pieces by the strangers' weapons and soon enough he'd be getting hit, too. But that was okay because John wanted to do it for Jim, or else it'd be Jim down here getting himself killed and John wouldn't have been able to handle it. With John himself in the line of fire, well, his mind was more at peace than it had been in a while.  

"Jim, thank you," he said as he moved along the boulder and peeked out for a moment, watching with a heavy heart as the inhabitants of the planet slowly advanced towards him. 'Thank you' was probably the worst choice of words he could have said to his best friend, but they were better than the alternative three words that he could have said.  

"What?" His wild-child of a best friend, the one who singed fingers with his burning intensity sounded so lost and confused that it almost made John's resolve crumble. _Almost_. "No, Bones, stay still! Damn it, just stand still," he pleaded and ordered whoever was at the console to move faster, to get a better lock on Bones, do _anything_ to get him back. John had to hold back a chuckle. Jim sounded a whole lot like John... He sighed, though, and cast his phaser to the ground, moving to his feet and pulling his blue science shirt down, straightening it.   

"Jim, just go. Your team is dead and I'm probably gonna be, too, soon. Don't worry... It'll be okay, it really will. Just _stay_ on your _goddamn_ ship, or else I'm making a sacrifice and breaking a promise for nothin'." And, well, as soon as John crushed the comm. under his heel, that was the end of _that_.   

As soon as he got up, he let the numbness take over.  Is this what you felt, George, when you died for Winona and Jim?  

_"I told you that you'd understand. I knew you would."  _

In his last moments of peace before a strange darkness clouded his eyes, John imaged that he could hear Jim's enraged voice, screaming his anger to the stars.

* * *

When John opened his eyes, he almost felt like groaning. _Not dead_. He was laying on the hard, hot ground, his shirt in shreds and his back burning from the heat. The first thing he noticed was that there wasn't any weapons firing on him. The second thing he noticed was that, _oh_ _God_, he was tired. The third thing he realized was that he didn't remember what had happened at all after he'd stood up.  

The last thing he noticed was that he wasn't alone.   Slumped against a rock across from him was Jim Kirk with his blue eyes wild as he stared at John. His chest was heaving and he looked even more untouchable than usual. He looked positively furious and John realized that wasn't even the worst of his trouble. He looked over Jim silently, both angry and unusually happy to see him. "Jim..." The name on his lips was like a glass of cold water, trickling down his throat and soothing the soreness.  

Until that water choked him.  

Jim was hurt.  

Jim was _really_ hurt. "Jim, you're..." John wasted no time, ignoring his protesting body parts to scramble towards his best friend and captain. "You've been hit!" Jim made a grunting noise that could be translated as 'no shit, sherlock'. "Oh, Jim..." The worst wound was near Jim's chest cavity, John noticed. John breathed heavily and put his hand on the wound, applying pressure even when Jim thrashed.   

John didn't even need to ask to know what had happened. Jim, the idiot, the goddamned _fool,_ had come to do yet another daring rescue with John playing the damsel in distress. Jim must have pulled John all the way to the little rock alcove they were in, hidden away from the attackers, but John could hear them coming. Jim groaned and fumbled around, trying to get leverage to push himself up. "No, Jim! Lie still!"   

"Bones, listen to me..." Jim's voice was shaky and he was shivering. John put his hands to Jim's face and felt a chill run down his spine.  

"You're cold... Shivering," he noted as he applied more pressure to the bleeding wound.  

Why did this feel so familiar?  

_"John, stay with me..." _Jim's head was lolling to the side and his eyes were closing. John was close to panicking. His heart pounded much too fast, his own hands were shaky and his breathing was speeding up.   

"Jim, stay with me. Stay awake." Jim was obviously trying, breathing hard and shaking his head absently as if that could help him keep his eyes open. "Jim, we gotta go. Where's your comm.?"  

"No... No..." John reached out and grabbed Jim's shoulder, shaking it to keep him awake.   "You're bleeding to death. Stay with me, Jim. Don't leave me, not now." Jim was dying. Jim was dying because he had beamed down and come to save John's life like John had tried to do for Jim. The unfairness of the situation hit John right in the chest and he felt like killing Jim himself. He had _wanted_ it, damn it! Was it too much to ask just to stop his miserable existence? He would have had to 'die' anyway and... Frankly, John wasn't sure if he could handle another one. Why wouldn't anyone just let him _die_? First Sam, now Jim.  _Sam_... He remembered a conversation they'd once had after the Kelvin incident and before Jim had known him as the police officer.  

_"John, I think we need to talk a little bit about you."   _

_"Uh... What?"  _

_"Well, I've been thinking about the C-24, you know." _

_"Okay... What about it?"  _

_"Well, it occurred to me that if the monsters could infect people... Can you?"  There was a long silence. _

_"Sam. That is... Really wrong."  _

_"No! I mean... I thought about this a lot. The monsters were drawn to the evil in a person. I'm just wondering... Since you're the 'perfected' human, would you be drawn to people like you? I mean, the people who __**wouldn't**__ turn into monsters."  _

_"I... Hadn't exactly thought about that..."  _

_"You're not a, you know... __**Biter**__, are you?"   _

_"I–what? No, I don't bite!"   _

_"Good."  _

_"What...? Oh. __**Oh**__. Oh, Sam! God, bad mental picture!" _  

They had gone into fits of giggles afterward and had hardly ever mentioned it again, but the conversation stuck. Some people just naturally repulsed John, like that guy in a bar a few years back that had obviously been looking for trouble and some of the men he'd picked up for domestic abuse during his days as a cop. There were people he was just drawn to, like Uhura and Jim...  Did that have anything to do with his extra chromosome? Was Sam right? _Could_ he infect others?  

More importantly, would it save Jim's life? The kid was already fading, and fast. He was incoherent and mumbling and _still_ shivering. Panic raged within John, making his trembling hands shake in earnest. There was no time, there was _no time_! "Jim, stay awake!" He pressed two fingers on Jim's pulse and instead of a healthy thrumming, he gasped when he felt it fading fast. Jim's skin was getting paler and colder and John didn't have any time to think.   

As he brought Jim's wrist up to his lips, Reaper took control and bit into the marred skin without a second thought. There was an odd rushing feeling and something that wasn't saliva trickled from his mouth and into the wound.   

Jim was going to be furious.  

Jim was going to _hate_ him.   

John could care less. If it meant keeping Jim alive, then it was worth it. If his friend could keep on roaming the stars, he could keep on being as flighty as the wind. He could keep on being as powerful (_more_ powerful, now) as a hurricane. He could keep on breathing. He could keep on being Jim, even if he didn't want Bones there after he'd explained everything.   

The thought of leaving made John's heart pang, but it was too late. The poison had already been administered and Jim was slumping into unconsciousness as John picked up Jim's discarded comm. and ordered Starfleet to beam the two of them up.   

John understood. He understood why Sam did what she did. He understood why she had to save him instead of just letting him die like John wanted to. He understood how George loved someone so much that he'd do anything to keep them alive. He understood how Jesse Carlton was able to push his fiance away from the falling beam. He understood why his fiance took her own life, because she couldn't live with the knowledge that he'd died while saving her.  It wasn't about dying for someone, it was about _saving_ them, and if this was the only way then so be it.   

John ordered a room to quarantine both Jim and himself and sat himself in the farthest corner from the bed Jim rested in. "I know you," he whispered to the silent room as Jim's breathing evened out. John could see the injuries healing themselves already. "You'll hate me, but you'll be alive. It's worth it. It'll be worth it."   

Jim's wild eyes flashed open.


	3. Crash and Burn

John couldn't even _look_ at his best friend, but he could feel the intense gaze on his body when Jim saw him. It was pathetic to hide from Jim in plain sight; John _knew_ that and yet he kept his eyes elsewhere, looking for _anything_ and _everything_ to distract him from the man on the biobed. It was futile and cowardly and John hated himself for it.

John hated himself for a _lot_ of things, but selfishly turning his best friend into a genetically-altered super human just to keep him from dying (and from getting hurt later on in life) definitely hit a new low. His chest constricted painfully and he expertly avoided Jim's eyes, not even looking in the general _direction_ of the biobed. As attempts at avoidance went, this was really, really pathetic and John knew it. It was obvious that something was up.

Jim and John had a routine, one that constituted that when Jim woke up, John would be sitting in a chair next to the bed, either glaring and grasping at Jim's pulse points with two of his fingers to reassure himself that his best friend was alive or fast asleep with his head near Jim's hip after working yet another medical miracle to keep his captain's heart beating. When both were aware and awake, they'd begin their yelling.

John would be shouting about the hero-complex that Jim had, never leaping before he looked and yelling about his general idiocy. Jim would be busy trying to raise his voice enough to be heard above John, saying over and over again that he was _alive_, he was _fine_, and could he please get out of Medical Bay? Their routine had never been discussed; it was just one of those 'we do it, no questions asked' thing that they had.

It was just another of their abstract ways to express affection for each other, they both knew that.

So, John didn't really want to think about the implications he was making by _not_ being by Jim's side, _not_ feeling his pulse, and _not_ yelling.

_"Stay with him."_ John took a deep breath and met Jim's never-wavering gaze, answering no questions and just putting on a brave, blank face.

_I can't this time, George. I don't think he'll let me_, John thought with a pang in his heart so painful that he felt like clawing the damned thing out to get it to stop betraying him like this. He was scared (though he _did_ have a good reason to be) and he had to remember that Jim was like him and now could practically feel and smell the fear rolling off of John in huge waves.

If John was being honest with himself, he would be able to say without hesitating that he wasn't just afraid Jim would walk away from him and never talk to him again. No, it went deeper than that, in a way that made John truly want to throw up on someone. His absence from Jim's bedside and his position as far across the room as he could manage wasn't just from wanting to keep mental distance from his best friend, but also physical distance.

It was all that bastard Sarge's fault.

He had trusted and liked Sarge and had been his friend in a way he thought would never be repeated. John had practically been Sarge's right hand man, if not in rank then in their personal lives. He had been able to talk to Sarge (when no one else was around, mind you) and Sarge had confided in him as well. When C-24 was added into the confusing mix, it ended in disaster. Sarge had proven himself able to be corrupted in the most gruesome way possible.

He had been _coherent_.

When he advanced on John (_Reaper_, back then), he had been totally and completely _himself_.

It had been okay when the others had been turned into monsters, beyond recognizing others or being themselves. They hadn't known what was going on or who they were killing; it had just been the C-24, the killing instinct. They were too far gone to stop themselves. John had witnessed it, seen his team go to the brink of insanity and fear and fall.

He'd seen Sarge do it, too, in his own way. And by 'in his own way', John meant he had seen it when he had killed the Kid. Sarge had liked the Kid, enough to want to put him on the team. John had even witnessed some affection between the two of them. True, it was mostly Sarge patting and ruffling the Kid's hair and the Kid acting disgruntled and patting it back into place, but he had seen it and had smiled to himself. So, when Sarge killed the Kid, John finally got a clue that something was really, horribly wrong.

John should had seen it. He should have expected it when Sarge got pulled away from Sam and him, but it never crossed his mind. He had thought Sarge was all good, doing his job to protect other people. He never once imagined that Sarge would actually _want_ to kill people. He hadn't realized that all Sarge really was, was just a murderer in a Marine uniform.

John would have been okay if he'd expected it.

John wouldn't have cared enough to hesitate when Sarge killed the Kid. Maybe at least Duke would still be alive if he'd seen it sooner. But John had a handy habit of overlooking the worst in people he actually cared about.

That was what made it so nauseatingly awful when he saw Sarge, saw the wound on his neck and Sarge _still_ acted like himself. He was all Sarge when he threatened John. He had advanced on John, one of his very best friends, with the intent to kill. He was all Sarge during the fight so that by the end of it, John realized how much he really _hated_ Sarge.

So, if John was going to be honest with himself, he would not be ashamed to admit that he was afraid of Jim doing the same exact thing. However, since Jim hadn't shown any signs of changing into one of those godforsaken monsters yet, he had allowed himself to relax while the kid was asleep. When he was awake, it was a totally different story. John was sure he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

It didn't help that he knew Jim was noticing everything. Even though his eyes stayed locked on John, John could practically hear the gears turning and the whistles blowing in Jim's mind. John had to keep reminding himself why he had done what he did. _Jim was going to die. There was no time. If I had waited another two minutes, Jim would have been lost. I had to do it. I promised George._ It was going to be worth it. It was going to be worth it.

It _had_ to be worth it.

Jim, his beautiful, insane, uncontrollable force of a friend, was _living_ and _breathing_. Granted, he was breathing because he had been bitten like in those goddamn vampire stories and had been practically poisoned, but he _was_ breathing.

John just hoped _he'd_ still be breathing by the end of this.

Jim finally stopped the staring match and an easy grin spread across his face and it would have seemed natural to anyone but John. John had known him since he was little, had watched him grow up and was his very best friend. He could see the wariness in Jim's eyes and he could easily see the tightness in his mouth, the tense shoulders that would have been slouching if he was really okay. "So, Doc, will I be able to play the piano?" The voice was off, too. There was too much seriousness in the voice that should have been laughing.

_Kid_, John thought, _you'll be able to play Beethoven's Ninth in a day when you figure this out_.

Oh, good God, the genius part of Jim was going to be absolutely insufferable. He was already too smart for his own good. With the added super intelligence that came with the whole, lovely package of the bomb that was C-24, Jim was going to be unstoppable.

Shit, John was in trouble.

If Jim didn't kill him, the Admirals that had to deal with Jim's newfound genius _would_.

In reply, Bones tried for his customary eye roll back at Jim, though it was half-hearted and failed he miserably. Too-sharp eyes narrowed at him just slightly, but it was enough to make John tense and stand slowly, as if handling a spooked horse. Moving fast was just going to make everything worse and it really wasn't helping that Jim was watching his every movement, obviously uncomprehending but annoyed at John's attitude toward him.

"Bones?" The confused, almost lost voice almost made John's resolve crumble. He could... He could just pass off the new 'symptoms' as side effects of some drug that he'd had to inject Jim with and... He could just slip away during the night and the confrontation would never have to even take place and...

John wanted to _run_. He wanted to bolt out of the room and toss himself out of the airlock and never once slow down. Suddenly, it wasn't _Jim_ that was the scared animal. Jim sat up slowly and swung his legs over his bed and stared straight at him with a closed off expression, too similar to the one John had seen Sarge look at him with. John froze, then moved one foot backwards and tensed, almost putting himself in a sprinter's position, one of his hands just barely extended towards the door, ready to punch in the code and take off running in a moment.

Jim's eyes narrowed even further.

John knew better than anyone that Jim was an explosive force. He was a fighter, not a lover. He was like gunpowder that had settled itself on John's skin over the years and had sunk into his blood and John was seconds away from lighting the match that would destroy them both.

Well, Jim was always complaining that the white walls in Medical Bay were too 'bland'.

Maybe a nice coat of red _paint_ would remedy that situation.

Jim was perched on the bed, as if not able to decide if he should just stay where he was or if he should advance on John. After a few strained moments of debate, he settled back onto the bed but fixed John with an all-too penetrating look that John wished he'd attack him instead. "So, how long was I out this time?" The inquiry was innocent enough, but John backed a step away. It was that same mock-calm that Sarge had spoken in.

_"You gonna shoot me?"_

_"Yeah, I was thinkin' about it..."_

John shrugged feebly. "Not long," he answered vaguely, ignoring the fact that Jim knew he could cite just how many days, hours and minutes he'd been unconscious. "How do you feel?" Even though his voice was soft, John thanked his lucky stars that he didn't crack or stumble in his words.

Jim seemed to consider himself, flexing his arms and rolling his shoulders, shifting his legs and stretching out his back. "What happened to me?"

His mind screamed, _What happened? You idiot, you beamed down to save me when I didn't want to be saved! You got holes shot in you and you almost died and I've turned you into some sort of monster and you are not the Jim I know and love. Happy_? Instead, he said, "You got shot. Almost died down there, Jim. _Again,_" he muttered and shook his head. "How do you feel?"

"I feel... Like I didn't get shot at all. I feel fine. No soreness, no scars, no drugs, no pain at all... Nothing."

_So it begins_. "So, you feel great." Jim nodded slowly and narrowed his eyes again, studying John with absolute focus. He could only guess at what Jim was seeing; a friend, staying as far away from Jim as possible, ready to run at any sign of danger, radiating cautiousness and fear...

Jim sat up, ramrod straight. "What did you do?" Fucking C-24. Jim's brain worked abnormally fast without the superhuman variable, but that was a record time for all the little, mismatched puzzle pieces to fall into place. John glanced at the clock blinking on the wall, noting that they had a few hours until someone was supposed to check up on them. No one was going to overhear anything they had to say.

John straightened as well and moved a step _forward_. When he had _injected_ (he refused to think of it as _biting_) Jim with the C-24 in his system, he had known that Jim liked to know everything that John was going to do to him. Even as he slipped into unconsciousness, he could count on Jim to struggle to stay awake, just to ask John what he was going to be doing. There had been no discussion about C-24. He hadn't given Jim a choice to reject the idea and he _knew_ Jim hated that. Even when he stabbed Jim in the neck with a hypospray unannounced, he'd get the silent treatment for a couple hours after that or the "Jim treats Bones as if he's _just_ a CMO and not his best friend' treatment.

John didn't even want to _know_ what kind of a reaction this would provoke.

Apparently, Jim understood John's pointed silence for what it was. He slowly slid off the bed and straightened to his full height, staring intently at John. The hard look in Jim's eyes was enough to stop his heart and then kicked into gear, three times as fast. He saw Jim's jaw tic as the young captain ground his teeth together. Jim's hands clenched and unclenched and his breathing slowly turned a little rough.

John knew what Jim was feeling. He remembered waking up and feeling the effects of the extra chromosome all too clearly. He remembered how it felt to feel that unrestrained _power_ flowing in his blood, seeping into his muscles and making him feel invincible. He remembered the stunning clarity, how he felt like he was seeing the world for the first time. He remembered the effortlessness he felt when he just _moved_. He remembered that it was a feeling he didn't particularly _like_.

He remembered how _easy_ killing the monsters and zombies had been, how little thought he'd put into it. He remembered the calm that had descended on him, like it was _right_ to kill the fucking things and that it was _okay_. He remembered having no emotion, he remembered the absolute control he had felt.

_Oh my God_, John thought as Jim slowly advanced on him, _I am so __**screwed**_.

John didn't move, but Jim kept coming until he was right in John's personal space. Jim never had any sense of boundaries and when he overstepped them, he was usually smiling and teasing. His face was as blank as the white walls around them, this time, his eyes the only spot of color John could see. They were burning. They were _angry_. "What. Did. You. D_o._ To me?" _Yeah. Really fucking screwed._

John knew what Jim was like when he was angry. The time with Spock hadn't been _anything_ compared to angry Jim, mostly because Jim had been _trying_ to make Spock angry. When Jim was angry, he was like a tornado. He was powerful and destroyed anything and everything in his path. Fits of rage ended in Jim beating the shit out of someone or leaving his room in the state of a disaster zone. John had been a rare witness to one of Jim's outbursts and even though it wasn't C-24-monsters-scary, it made John edgy and kind of afraid Jim would turn on _him_.

This time, it _was_ directed at him. There was nothing to stop him, nothing for him to destroy except one John Grimm who probably really deserved it. This time, Jim was just as strong as John and that was frightening in itself. Maybe John wouldn't be able to keep him calm, keep him under control. They'd be an even match, John was sure, but Jim was a passionate fighter that hated to lose. Not only that, he had a great right hook, too.

Irrationally, John felt himself start to get a bit irritated as well. Who said Jim was even going to listen to his explanation? He had no right just to _demand_ an answer like that and expect a good attitude from John! So, when Jim grasped his shoulders hard and growled, "_Doctor McCoy_, I _order_ you to _answer_ me," something inside John snapped.

John had his carefully built walls rattled one too many times. When they all came crumbling down, Reaper stepped out from the rubble. "I am so fucking _sick_ of orders!" Orders were what got John into his current situation. Orders were what killed his team. Not obeying orders was what killed the Kid, because he refused to kill innocent people.

Jim froze, wild eyes glinting dangerously. Shouting had _not_ been the best course of action. John had known that, but it seemed as though Reaper had other ideas. "You wanna know what I did?" He challenged, stepping right back into Jim's space, reaching to the medical table nearby. His hand closed over a sharp tool in the amount of time it took for Jim to bat an eyelash and brought it savagely down on Jim's hand on his shoulder. For all his rage, he left a straight, clean cut on the back of Jim's hand.

Jim yelped and threw Reaper away from him, sending the surprised man flying into the wall across the room as Jim clutched his hand close to his chest and cradled it. He crouched slightly, hissing at the pain until his eyes widened and he froze again. John already knew what he was seeing; the wound practically stitching itself up as the blood stopped flowing almost immediately.

John just barely picked himself off up from the floor when he was suddenly pinned to it by another body. He hissed and jerked as Jim crowded him, burning brighter than any sun John had seen. Harsh and unforgiving hands, calloused from work on an Iowa farm and too many bar fights pinned John's hands painfully behind his back. All John could see was red and he could only feel heat; heat from the anger and proximity of both men. "Doctor McCoy, I ord–"

Reaper surged forward, knocking Jim's head with his own and sent Jim reeling backwards. He was frustrated and irritated and really fucking _hated_ the name Leonard Horatio McCoy. "You may have control over _Doctor McCoy_, but you have no control over _me_," he snarled, ducking expertly as Jim came charging back towards him.

"You _are_ Doctor McCoy and I _do_ have control over you," Jim hissed back, raising his hand to strike out at John. Reaper caught his wrist, jerked it towards him and stared at the teeth marks permanently embedded on Jim Kirk's skin. He grinned slowly and leaned forward, teeth bared and challenging. Jim followed his gaze and all of his focus landed on the bite marks, then flicked back up to Reaper and back again.

"I'm _not_. Never have been Leonard Horatio McCoy," he snorted at the name and even though every fibre of his being was screaming at him to shut his mouth and _run_, Reaper ignored his rational side once again. Jim paused again and the puzzle pieces fell into perfect alignment again. John could feel Jim begin to shake, growing progressively angrier in his attempts to jerk away from John, growling quietly under his breath.

"You _lied_," he spat angrily, jerking one hand free and finally punching John in the face, hard enough to make the ex-Marine's head spin. He'd never seen Jim _this_ angry before; he looked practically murderous. "You lied about _everything_!" His voice was growing in decibels as he hit John again, launching himself at John and sending them tumbling down onto the floor. John grunted under the assault, every hit and every word burning into his skin, bringing the match that much closer to the gunpowder on his skin.

"There is no Leonard McCoy!" Jim lunged at John and slammed his fists into any patch of skin he could reach.

"There is no Jocelyn!" Another hit landed, probably damaging some kind of organ inside of John.

"There is no Joanna!" John shoved Jim off of him and hit him back, bruising and bloodying his knuckles against Jim's face. He had to have a fighting chance, because if there was one thing Jim hated more than doctors and hyposprays, it was someone who lied to his face and John had _definitely_ done that.

Jim listed every single lie that had been told, accenting each one of them with a solid hit, growing angrier every time and coming back with renewed force. John could practically feel the anger and the hurt and the feeling of betrayal pouring off of Jim each time their fists came in contact with each other. The room was in ruins and, as predicted, a small amount of blood was transferred onto the white walls, painting a grotesque picture that reminded John of how Goat's blood had looked on the wall back in Olduvai. The memory made him struggle harder against Jim, grappling at any skin he could get his hands on.

"I hate you. I hate you," Jim kept repeating, even when it ended with John throwing the kid against the wall so hard that bits of it crumbled off. John's nose and lips were bleeding profusely and Jim looked like a train had plowed into him. The anger bled out of John at the same time that Reaper retreated into the back corner of his mind and he felt sick again.

Jim was his _best friend_. His best friend that was slumped against the wall, struggling to stand now and was bleeding from quite a few places. John had just beat the shit out of his best friend and his best friend had tried his hardest to practically kill him. He remembered the rage that had fueled him to kill Sarge. He understood what Jim had been feeling, but he hadn't expected himself to get so angry and attack _back_.

"If," John started slowly, not meeting Jim's eyes as he punched in the override code to open the door, "if you had just left me there to die like I wanted to, this would never have happened." He could see Jim's chest rise and fall rapidly and he looked into cold, flat blue depths that screamed Jim's pain, both mental and physical. Jim wasn't going to let him talk, not now. There was no one else he could talk to. Except...

"Get off my ship." Jim's voice was low and dangerous, a snarl that was both a warning and a challenge. Reaper bristled in the back of John's mind, hackles rising and teeth baring.

John quelled him because he knew that Jim was in the right. It didn't make the pain or anger go away, but he understood. He turned to walk out, only stopping to speak over his shoulder, leaving the one person he'd promised to stay with, save, protect and love behind. "Find Doctor Samantha Grimm," was all he said before running at his top speed to the shuttle bay. It was surprisingly easy to sneak up behind the officers and render them incapacitated as to steal shuttle number 37 and begin to hightail it back to Earth.

_"You promised."_

_I'm sorry, George. I'm so, so sorry._


	4. Crumble

**Title**: Crumble

**Author**: drpepperupper

**Characters**: Kirk/Reaper!McCoy

**Fandom**: Doom/Star Trek crossover

**Rating**: R

**Warnings**: Just swearing

**Notes**: This took a LONG goddamn time. I really hope it's worth the work I put into it, but I guess I'll leave that up to you all. I have a feeeeling a lot of people are going to hate me for this but WAIT! It isn't the end! Just stay with me a few more chapters, it'll be worth it. Well, I hope.

You know, I've been asked by my friend many times how I come up with this shit. I really have _no_ idea. My mind works in strange ways. I just hope you all like it.

* * *

The stars looked better in space.

From Earth, they just looked like... Little dots. They weren't nearly as interesting to look at from the ground, laying out on Sam's front yard in the overgrown grass. Maybe to someone who had never been in space and never looked at stars up close and personal, the little winking dots could be called fascinating, but John couldn't understand the concept of gazing at the stars when you could just hop on a shuttle and get out there.

Sure, up close, stars were just huge burning balls of gas (or _whatever_, John couldn't really be bothered to think about it), but they were beautiful in their own way. The thought of one star having been there for thousands of years was mind boggling and John had never really wrapped his mind around it. There was something domineering and majestic and unpredictable about the stars. Even though John _hadn't_ really liked space that much, he'd been able to appreciate the stars.

It wasn't so easy to appreciate them when he was so far _away_.

Stars weren't meant to be seen from the ground; they were meant to be seen from the observation deck aboard the Enterprise. They were meant to be seen, reflected in Jim Kirk's eyes when he walked up beside John to take in the spectacular sight. They were meant to be seen in the eyes of an adoring captain, pointing out each star he can, fondly caressing them with his voice, telling stories and myths he made up or remembered from his childhood. They were meant to be seen by fleeting glances, careful observations and quiet smiles. Stars were meant to be drowned in endless _blue_.

Then again, John might just be biased.

John heard the bang of the front screen door opening and closing, he heard the soft footsteps treading across the lawn and he smiled a little. The simple motion of face muscles was an effort for him, as always. He hadn't smiled once since his fight with Jim, but he could make himself a little more chipper for his sister. "John?" At the sound of his name, John tipped his head backwards, against his arms pillowed behind his neck. His smile faded a little as he took in Sam's appearance. Her hair was still blond and she still _looked_ like Sam, but she was _older_ and it made John wince a little. She looked a bit frail and paler than usual; it worried John. It hurt him every time he had to see her. It hurt to know that he was going to live long past her, one of the few people he'd ever allowed himself to love.

"Hey, Sam," he replied, settling himself deeper into the grass to resume staring up at the stars, searching them and mapping them out in his overactive brain. There was a long silence on Sam's part as she sat herself down beside her brother. John was aware she was as uncomfortable to see him unchanged as he was to see her aging.

"John, what are you doing here? Is something wrong?" John snorted, pursed his lips together and continued his stargazing, even when the sky went a little blurry in his eyes. He just wanted to talk to his sister, he just wanted some comfort. He didn't want to talk about C-24, he didn't want to talk about the fact that Sam was getting older and he wasn't. He didn't want to talk about George or Jim or Winona. He didn't want to talk about space. He just wanted his sister to be with him like she had been when they were kids, so long ago.

"Sam," he said, pretending like he didn't hear his voice break and pretending like he wasn't speaking around the huge lump in his throat, "you have _no_ idea." He tried not to see the way Sam's eyes softened at him. he tried to ignore the hand she put on his shoulder. He just continued to stare up at the sky, mentally checking off all the planets and constellations that he'd passed and seen.

"John, what happened?" Sam's voice was soft and hesitant. John finally moved his gaze back to his sister. One look at her confirmed that she looked just as anxious as she sounded.

"You were right, Sam," he said, glad that his voice didn't break again. "You were always right."

"John?" She was alarmed and unsure, unable to comprehend his strange mood. "John, why are you here?" She asked again, her grip tightening ever so much on his strong shoulder. "What happened?" She gasped then; something had obviously connected in her still-sharp mind. "Is Jim okay? Oh, my God, John! What the _hell_ happened?" At the mention of Jim, the stars blurred in John's vision and he just shook his head. He heard Sam sigh in relief, then tense again. "If Jim's okay, then _why_ are you _here_?" The silent _and not with him, like you promised George?_ rung out in the quiet stillness.

"I'm here," John started, slowly, "because Jim didn't _want_ to be okay."

"What?" John sighed.

"You're sick, Sam?"

"Yeah."

"I could help you, Sam."

"I _know_, John. You're a _doctor_."

"I could save you Sam. Like you saved _me_." She had to understand. He didn't want to come right out and _say_ it because it sounded so... so... _Awful_. It sounded like he was some sort of sadistic asshole who went around biting people to make some sort of super army out of them.

"That's impossible. You don't have C-24. It was _destroyed_." Yeah, like he didn't remember. Jesus, what the hell? Dd she think he was an idiot or something?

"You were _right_, Sam."

There was a long pause. John couldn't muster up the courage to chance a look at Sam. He couldn't bear to see the confusion, the understanding and then the downright _disgust_ that he _knew_ was dawning on Sam's face. What was he _supposed_ to say? _'Hey Sam, guess what? If I bite someone, I send poison into their bloodstream and make them like __**me**__. I'm like a goddamn fucking snake!'_? Right, like _that_ would go well.

"Oh, John..." The pity in Sam's voice was nigh unbearable. John scoffed harshly at her, got up and shook his head.

"I don't regret what I did, Sam. He'll be safe, now. Safer that he _was_, at least. I can sleep easier now." LIE. "It's okay. He was right to get mad. There was no other option than me leaving, really. He hates me for it now, Sam, because he doesn't _understand_ what I did. He doesn't get why I did it, either," he nodded a little, conveniently leaving out the part where he hadn't explained because he was too busy fighting his best friend. "I was just an idiot for _staying_ with him while he figured it out."

Not able to stomach any more of Sam's pity, he turned his back on his sister and walked away.

* * *

John was _bored_. It wasn't the kind of boredom where he could just pick up a PADD and read or take a nap to satisfy himself for a bit. It was the kind where he had tried _everything_ he could think of to occupy himself short of space jumping like so many adrenaline junkies were fond of. Hell, he'd even tried _cooking_ classes and that was just _sad_. Nothing was good enough. He'd already had the adventure of a lifetime between Olduvai, the _Kelvin_, George, and Jim. He'd been satisfied during his time acting as Leonard McCoy, becoming a doctor and going to Starfleet.

What else could he _do_? He tried everything from painting to _almost_ joining the Marines again.

Today, he was staring at his _last_ resort. _Oh my God, this is pathetic, John. You're even getting weird looks from the old ladies standing here!_ Of course, it probably wasn't every day that the old ladies saw such a strapping young man in their favorite 'arts n' crafts' store, staring at yarn like it was the bane of his existence.

"Do you need some help, Sir?" asked a particularly bewildered woman. She stared up at him like he was some sort of ghost, come back to haunt her. John flinched under her stare, pursed his lips together and grabbed an assortment of mismatched fabric, flushing and grumbling at her and himself.

"S'gonna be for a friend. Likes homemade things," he mumbled as he moved away from the confused woman.

_So, this is what the great John Grimm is reduced to. How __**pathetic**_. John grimaced at the hiss of Reaper, who was growing more and more restless as the days went on.

_Shut up, __**shut up**_, he thought back as he handed over the credits needed to purchase his odd merchandise. The woman behind the counter merely raised her eyebrows at him in a way that echoed Spock in such a way that John's heart panged and that should _not_ have happened. He used to practically cringe at the thought of Jim's First Officer. Seeing someone be so emotionless scared him, frankly. He remembered a time when he'd been almost exactly like Spock, a part of himself that John resented; the soldier within him. However, his heart hurt anyway, no matter what he did to dissuade it.

Apparently, his heart wanted nothing more than to be back on the Enterprise with his hassle of a captain, the pointy-eared, green-blooded bastard of a First Officer, the Russian jailbait and his sword-wielding, self dubbed 'badass botanist' of a boyfriend, the sharp-tongued cougar that was Uhura and his dear hypospray-happy terror, Chapel.

John would give anything to be back.

_Pathetic_, Reaper hissed and retreated again.

John was aware that he was getting horribly desperate. There was hardly anything that he could get to stick. He'd attempted to go back to being the brilliant doctor. All that did was encourage John to become something of a crazy insomniac and he hardly left the hospital. Not only that, but he'd catch himself imagining he was treating the crew of the _Enterprise_. Whenever some poor soul would come in because of an allergic reaction, John would catch himself saying, "Damn it, Jim," and he would be scolding the stranger like he used to scold Jim.

Being a doctor managed to hold John's attention for a period of about three years after he'd left the _Enterprise_. He had talked to Sam a few times since he'd walked away from her that late summer day in Georgia. Their talks were painfully awkward and there was none of that 'sibling comfort' between them which was new. John never asked if Jim had heeded his advice and found Sam. Sam never said anything about it.

After he was tired of both healing and watching people die, John had to quit. He figured he would develop some kind of a God complex if he continued either saving or losing lives on the operating table. There was a problem with quitting, though. Being a Marine and being a doctor was all he really knew. He wasn't sure how to handle not being either. _Well John_, he thought to himself, _it'll be another adventure_.

It _wasn't_.

Being a normal person in the normal world was just _boring_. There was no thrill, no excitement and John didn't know _when_ the hell he had turned into some kind of adrenaline junkie, but it _bothered_ him. He couldn't go to bed and say 'wow, I did something good today' like he used to be able to. All he could say was 'wow, today was really fucking boring'. John was, to be blunt, less than satisfied with his life. He didn't know what he had to do to break out of his boring, boring stupor.

_The answer ain't in __**yarn**_, sneered Reaper as he got back to the apartment he was currently renting. John simply shook his head at himself, sat down on his couch and pulled out his _crocheting_ _materials_ (good God, what the hell was he doing?), careful to include the big fucking crocheting manual that one of the old ladies in a cat sweater had shoved into his hands ("You're gonna _need_ this, son") and began working.

About three hours later, John threw the yarn and the needles away from him with a disgusted sound. "Jesus H. Christ!" He exclaimed, rubbing the feeling back into his hands as he surveyed his handiwork.

_Wow. I __**suck**_.

It was painfully obvious now; crocheting was _not_ John's life calling.

There was no denying it. He was totally and completely _hopeless_. The mass of blue and orange that was supposed to be a scarf (or... something) looked like something served in the kind of cafeteria where you had no idea what you were eating and holy shit was it _moving_?! Yeah. So, maybe the crocheting was not the best idea, but John picked the mass back up anyway and glared at it. "I hate you." He put it in a plastic bag, tied it and stuck a post-it note on it with a simple sentence: _see what you've reduced me to?_ After some thought, he added: _P.S - before you burn it, show it to Spock. The eyebrow might shoot off of his head_. After another moment of contemplation, he wrote down one more sentence for closure: _P.S.S - Fuck you_.

* * *

John sent the plastic-wrapped mess of his attempt at a homemade 'fuck you, I hate you, but I love you so I thought I'd send this to attempt to change your mind about me' gift. After that, all he could do was ask himself; _what would Jim do?_ Well, the answer to that was easy. He would go out to a noisy bar, get smashed, flirt with girls, dance until his legs felt like jelly and then get beat up.

For some reason, that sounded absurdly appealing to John. Reaper practically purred at the idea. He had, once upon a time, done the very same thing, but it hadn't been some sort of distraction method like Jim had turned it into. It had worked for Jim; the kid had turned into just as good a man as his father had been (where _was_ his George-voice?) even though he'd fucked himself up countless time at various bars. John had never really understood Jim.

_Maybe now is the time_, Reaper whispered as John stood in front of his door, keys in hand. _Just for tonight. Just let go tonight_, the devil tempted and for once his rational side was silent. John opened the door and walked out, a small, triumphant grin on his face while his common sense screamed soundlessly, choked to silence while the devil clogged John's ears with the sweetest whispers.

* * *

For the first time, John understood why Jim went _looking_ for fights. He had ragged on the kid _so_ many times for _intentionally_ getting hurt. He had yelled at Jim for being so damn irresponsible to go looking for pain. He shook his head at Jim so many times, rolled his eyes until he was dizzy and had fixed the kid up countless times. Jim took the yelling in stride, looking both contrite and smug at the same time, which was _really_ infuriating to John. Kid was just too reckless, he didn't even _care_.

_I am __**such**__ a hypocrite_.

There was absolutely no denying how good it felt to smash his fist into the other guy's face. The gasps from around him, from the spectators were satisfying. John had no personal vendetta against the stranger, but the guy was stone drunk, had blonde hair and blue eyes and just made John's blood boil. Over the years, he'd forgotten how to let go. He was always so in control of himself and now he just didn't care anymore as Reaper seeped into his veins and took control once more, even if just for a minute...

The blood dribbling into John's mouth from his split lip tasted a lot like freedom.

* * *

John finally understood why Jim had _kept_ on going out and fighting.

It was _addicting_. It was a challenge, and, dare he say it, it was the most fun John had had since he himself was a teenager. Sometimes, before a fight could even begin to form, some warm body would sidle itself up to John and if it was willing, who was John to say no? It felt good. John hadn't felt good in _years_, to be honest, so it was too hard to pass up.

_Just one more time_, he told himself each night he went out. _One more night and this is it_. It never was it. His visits to bars became more and more frequent, the bloodlust pumping through him like IV fluids, spreading throughout his body and burning with an intensity he could not ignore. Each night, it would be Reaper hissing at him, whispering, tempting and John was too weak not to give into temptation.

"You're slipping, John!" Sam had exclaimed to him one night over the phone. He had yet to figure out how the hell Sam knew about his nightly activity, but he didn't ask and she didn't tell. All he remembered was how his blood boiled as she said, "You _can't_ keep doing this!" Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew his sister was just worried about him. She was also more than likely worried about the people he got into fights with but so was he. He frequently made sure the poor bastard was still breathing after Reaper was done with him, his doctoring instincts too deeply rooted inside of him to just ignore.

However, he'd snarled at his sister, the bigger, defensive part of him bristling at her oppression. "You don't _control_ me, Sam," he had hissed, his voice hardly over a whisper. He had only smirked at her intake of breath, hadn't even cared at the ragged breaths signaling she was in worse shape than she had been last time he'd talked to her.

"John, what's going on?" He could clearly hear the double meaning to the question; 'what's going on that's making you want to fight?' and 'what the hell is going on inside your head?' He just wasn't sure how to respond to either of the questions. He didn't want to admit to Sam that he was just bored and the fighting, the random fucking felt _good_ and satisfied _something_ inside of him. The second question was something he'd asked himself once and hadn't been able to answer.

Yes, he was aware of the devil hiding inside of himself.

No, he wasn't sure what to do about it.

Yes, he wanted to be able to control himself again.

No, he didn't want to get rid of Reaper.

Reaper was a part of him. He was John, he was Reaper, he was Bones. He had _never_ been Leonard McCoy; that had just been a name and a cover. John and Bones were the essence of _him; _the grumpy, warm-hearted, closed off man. Bones was just a nickname for John, not another 'persona', as he liked to call it. There was John...

And then there was Reaper.

What _was_ Reaper?

Reaper was the cold-hearted bastard of a Marine who followed orders and was a general jackass. He'd served with Sarge and Portman and the rest of the team, coming out when a mission went sour and force had to be used. He'd grown stronger as a result of the C-24, a part of John he tried so desperately to hide.

John was a good man, but _every_ good man has a demon and his demon's name was Reaper. Reaper was the part of John he tried so hard to control, to gag and tie up in the back of his mind. It had worked, up until the incident with Jim and... He'd been set free. He was constantly there, bringing John to the brink of boiling over until John could manage to reign himself back in and breathe deeply. He was the part of John that got angry, that lashed out and attacked when provoked. He was the one that killed Sarge so mercilessly. He was the one whispering in John's ear; _just one more time, John. It'll feel good, just one more time_...

So, Reaper just snarled at Sam again. "Nothing's going on!" With that, he slammed the phone back down on its charger and stalked off into the night.

* * *

The day Sam died was, without doubt, the lowest point in John's life.

In the middle of the night, he shot into a sitting position in an unfamiliar with an unfamiliar body resting next to him. Within seconds, John shot to the dimly lit bathroom, barely making it in time to bend his head over the toilet to empty the contents of his stomach. "Sam," he gasped as he retched, clinging to the toilet's rim like it was his last tether to Earth.

"That's not my name, but for you it could be." The young woman that had been asleep beside him had heard John had had come to investigate, much to his dismay. She was pretty, with short, dark hair, dark eyes and a pretty smile that she was flashing at him. That smile faded a little as she flipped on the light and took in his appearance. "Hey, you okay?"

John wasn't able to respond; he was still reeling from the feeling of _loss_ that made his stomach churn unpleasantly again. All he could do was shake his head as he fought back the burning feeling in his eyes. The girl (he'd remember her name later, but his mind was too busy screaming 'Sam, Sam, Sam!') put her warm hand on John's surprisingly cold shoulder. "Oh, my God, you're freezing!" John grunted his response and shrugged out of her hold roughly.

"I gotta go," he said as soon as he could open his mouth without bile rising up his throat. He ignored her protests and pleads as he gathered his clothes, threw them on and walked out the door without a glance backwards. He waited until he was well out of sight before he effortlessly picked up his pace, running as fast as his legs could carry him without caring who saw, towards his apartment, praying more fervently than he ever had before for the chance that he was wrong.

_No, please God. Not Sammy. Not Sam. Please, let me be wrong. __**Please**_. He'd already lost George and Jim. He couldn't stand losing Sam... Not _now_.

John was convinced that there was no God when he discovered four new messages on his phone.

_Sunday, November 20th at 5:04 p.m (Mrs. Samantha Williamson)_

_"John, it's Sam. I'm just calling... I don't feel right, John. I... Yeah, I just wanted to tell you that I'm not feeling too great right now. Mark wants to take me into the hospital to get me checked up, so if you get a call from the Mercy Hospital, it'll be me calling. Just anted to let you know. Oh, and Kyle's home from college. He wants to see you. Love you."_

_Sunday, November 20th at 8:52 p.m (Kyle Williamson)_

_"John! Where are you, man? We're taking my mom to the hospital. She's been asking for you all night and she doesn't look so good. I'm just glad I was able to come out. I dunno this time, John... She looks so... Worm out. Get here, if you can. We know you're busy, but if you can... Hurry." _

_Sunday, November 20th at 11:42 p.m (Mercy Hospital, GA)_

_"Mr. John Grimm? This is Paula Brown from Mercy Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia. I'm sorry to have to pass on this news, but I've been told to call you and tell you that Mrs. Samantha Williamson passed away due to heart failure. I am aware that you don't live in Georgia, but grief counseling is available if you come to visit the family. I was told you two were very close. I'm very sorry."_

_Monday, November 21st at 2:17 a.m (Anonymous caller)_

_"I'm sorry. Fuck you, too."_

* * *

It was almost too ironic for him to bear. A place that had once meant sanctuary and comfort to many was crumbled and ruined, worn from standing stubbornly throughout the years.

Hardly anyone had any semblance of religion nowadays. Science had become something too obvious for even the most ardent believer to ignore. The church John was standing in front of was a sad picture, walls taken over by vegetation and and some of them crumbled. It was a depressing sight, the once powerful, peaceful place neglected and in ruin.

And of course, John himself was part of the irony as well. The damned man, who had killed just as many as he'd saved, harboring a growing-in-power demon within him, daring to set foot in the once-called 'blessed' place. It looked just as dark and damned as John felt. But there he was, standing in front of a church in Georgia at four in the morning, seeking a sanctuary of his own.

His sister was dead. The one person he'd actually loved, someone he'd trusted with his life was gone and John didn't know _how_ to deal with it. He remembered that his momma had been a religious person, even as the whole idea of God had faded into the background. She prayed quietly and had never made Sam or John pray with her. She'd only mention it in passing and sometimes John would walk into his parents' room to see her sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees and leaning forward, lips moving silently.

Lot of good _that_ did her.

When he looked around the dismal church, John could easily imagine what it had been like two hundred years. He could almost hear the swell of voices and music, harmonizing and rising to the high ceilings, breathing warmly on the cold, stain glass pieces of art in the windows above. He could imagine the priest, standing in front of everyone, preaching what they had considered to be the truth.

John thought differently. He had his personal proof, he had his science and medicine and he liked the idea that his brain was always evolving. Hell, he could feel it growing _now_. If there was a God, Olduvai would never have happened. Wh would a being that claimed to love everyone and everything have condemned innocents to such a horrible end? Why would He have sent demons from Hell to destroy human life? _If there was a God_, John reasoned, _I would be the same age as my sister right now. If there was a God, my parents would be alive. If there was a God, George Kirk would still be roaming the stars. _

_If there was a God, He would have kept Jim Kirk as an angel in Heaven_.

So, within the lines of his own logic, John assumed that there was no higher being looking down at him. That didn't stop him from kneeling in front of the broken altar and the shattered cross. It didn't stop him from sending a plea skywards, a cry for help into thin air.

It did, however, stop him from expecting an answer.

* * *

It wasn't Sam's death that finally pushed John over the edge. No, he dealt with her death quietly, visiting her grave with each passing year to put flowers on her grave. What did it was one fucking headline flashing on his PADD:

_**TRAGEDY IN STARFLEET: CAPTAIN JAMES T. KIRK AND AWAY TEAM DEAD.**_

John's heart stopped. "No." _I read it wrong. I read it wrong. That's not what it says_. But it _was_. After reading the line nearly ten times, he realized the names weren't going to change. There was no mistake in the writing. It said _exactly_ what it meant to say and that was that. Through angry, blurry eyes, John read on, hoping against hope and praying to the God he was convinced didn't exist that there was _some_ hope that they were wrong.

Jim, that fucking _idiot_, had beamed to a Klingon ship to rescue a few peaceful aliens that the Klingons had on board with a small away team, including a few security personnel and a couple of medics to assist if necessary. According to Spock, who had been talking into the interview, Jim had gone against all crew's wishes, insisting on being the big fucking hero to the hostages._ Old habits die hard_, John thought bitterly as he read on. About three hours after that, while Jim was supposed to be negotiating the release of the hostages, the _Enterprise_ lost all signals from the away team and the Klingon ship bolted.

What happened next was something like those old car chases from 'vids from the 20th and 21st century. Spock had been loathe to fire on the hostile ship for fear of losing his captain and the away team. As the article read, the _Enterprise_ damaged the ship and successfully beamed a rescue party on board, but the _Enterprise_ crew they were able to find on board were dead and they were unable to locate Jim and the rest of the team; two medics. The Klingon ship was heavily damaged, however, so the conclusion they were forced to draw was that they'd been killed by debris and the open fire on the Klingon ship.

The PADD flew from John's hands and shattered against the wall with a spectacular thud that resounded through the otherwise silent room. Ragged breaths stuttered through John's mouth, the crushing weight of such a loss staggering and pushing against him until he fell to his knees on the floor. "No. No, no, no, _no_."

It was too much._ Even C-24 can't always save someone_, Reaper informed him quietly from the back of his mind. Of course, he wouldn't really know. He hadn't done anything truly life threatening since he stepped into the elevator, hell bent on going home with Sam in his arms. He never really knew exactly how powerful C-24 could make someone; someone like him, not like Sarge had become. Maybe it was weaker in a good person... He'd never asked Sam. He never got the chance.

_Reasoning with yourself won't help_, Reaper told him firmly as John grasped his head in his hands, fingers tearing at his hair as he rocked backwards and forwards, unconsciously trying to soothe himself. Low moans and gasps that could be called sobs were the only sound in the apartment; one sad and monotonous lament without fancy words or colorful curses.

_I failed_. The realization that he had failed in his promise to George, had _failed_ to protect Jim _always_, like he had promised, was crippling. It wasn't as crippling as realizing that a man he'd once thought of as indestructible, infallible and too hardheaded to just up and _die_ was gone. He was gone just like the kid; all good intentions and the best damn person that John had ever known...

_Why do the good die young?_ John slammed his fist down on his floor, while most likely startling the people that lived below him, and even when the force broke his hand, it reset; just like that. It made John _angry_. He wanted to shout and he wanted to scream but his voice refused to cooperate. Instead, his mouth moved silently, half formed words and quiet cries as he could _swear_ he felt his heart break in two. His eyes were wet and his mind was silent, scrambling for thoughts to make the pain less than the searing little cuts that no ointment would soothe.

_Pain! Too much pain!_ Reaper was hissing and retreating from the unexpected and unpleasant feeling. _Stop! Soldiers don't do this! John Grimm doesn't do this. Stop the pain_. John wanted nothing more than to stop the pain.

"I can't, I cant," were the first words out of his mouth; merely _whimpers_. For one person, for one _kid_, John Grimm was reduced to crying and _whimpering_. "I promised. I promised." But George wasn't there to remind him, there was no one in his head except for Reaper; the devil. The devil that was concocting a plan, trying desperately to shrink away from the unwanted, purely mental pain that John was putting himself through.

_Let me. I can stop the pain_. John was in such a state that he couldn't resist the devil's whispers even though warning bells were ringing clearly in his mind. Anything, _anything_ to stop the pain. It would be worth it. He could handle physical pain, he was good at that. He had been trained to ignore physical pain. His body was built to withstand physical pain and to heal it. What he wasn't used to, however, was the mental pain; the searing guilt, the awful truth that burned his body, the flames laughing as they devoured him.

John closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

Insanity wasn't a hard concept to grasp. John had been expecting it like one would expect an old friend to drop by and stay a while. He'd felt it coming since he'd walked desperately into the Arts N' Crafts store a few years ago. It was inevitable; it had been inevitable since the day he left Jim and the _Enterprise_. Fights had no longer been enough. A warm, willing body had done nothing to soothe him. Watching the only stars had only made him restless and angry. Now, they would only bring pain when he searched for someone that was no longer sailing through the stars.

It was like a steady climb to the drop of the high diving board. Each little step, the smallest wrung brought him closer to the top, to the edge. The higher up he climbed, the harder his heart pounded and the faster he ascended. He was willing, he pushed himself higher. Anything. Anything to get away from the pain drowning him. The pull to let Reaper in, to stop the pain was too alluring to fight anymore.

Standing on the edge was the most exhilarating feeling. He teetered on the edge, mouth opened to either cry or to laugh, though no sound escaped. It was only topped by taking that last step and plunging downwards into the waters of uncertainty. The icy and yielding feeling of giving up was exquisite.

Reaper opened his eyes and smiled.

* * *

Stupid. Reckless.

Those weren't words that Reaper usually associated himself with. Stupid and reckless had been _Jim's_ words, not _his_. He'd always been so level-headed in situations (well, temper and grouchiness notwithstanding), never running off and doing something utterly idiotic. As a doctor, he never could afford to be stupid and reckless. He had to do things with so much precision that it was almost ridiculous.

Well, _John_ wasn't stupid and reckless. The same thing could _not_ be said for Reaper.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd known letting go and handing the reins to Reaper had been a _really_ bad idea. Somewhere in his messed up brain, he'd expected something like this to happen. He'd been anticipating it unconsciously since he left Jim.

Space had been a good hiding place for a man with twenty-four chromosomes. He had been able to do his own physicals, fake the blood tests without anyone looking over his shoulder and, for the most part, be a normal person aboard the _Enterprise_. But on Earth, it was a different story. Reaper didn't get sick often and if he did, he usually just slept it off. Normally, he was in perfect health. Other doctors weren't a concern for him because they usually figured that he could patch himself up, being brilliant and all.

Upon retrospect, he should have seen it coming. Since landing back on Earth, he'd had to be hospitalized one time. It was only because he'd needed his appendix taken out (no fucking extra chromosome helped with the pain _there_). The procedure had been perfect and, in his ignorance, he hadn't really considered the possibility that they'd encountered the problem of his body attempting to heal itself while they were operating on him. He hadn't thought of it while he was in so much goddamn _pain_.

So, looking back, he _really_ should have seen it coming.

Reaper was in a foul mood. He'd loved Jim as much as John had, even if he would admit it. He didn't like the idea that the kid was gone, but _he_ didn't cry like John had. _He_ kept the pain of loss at bay. He didn't cry and throw a fit worthy of a _six year old_. No, he went out and dealt with it using Jim's own method; drinking and looking for a fight. It took a lot for him to get well and truly drunk. That in itself would draw a little suspicion, he supposed, and it would cost a pretty penny, but it would be worth it.

It was a crowded, noisy var and it gave Reaper a headache, but it was perfect and he was on his who-knows-what-number shot of whiskey. His throat felt like it was on fire, the bartender was looking at him strangely, but oh my _God_, it was worth it. He wasn't often able to get past the comfortable buzz in the back of his mind that drowned out all his worries and pain, but he needed it.

He didn't notice when a man slid into the stool next to him. It was just another person; just someone else that didn't matter enough to catch Reaper's attention. However, the hair on the back of his neck prickled as the man began staring at Reaper with an unreadable expression. Reaper just turned to him and hissed "What?" in a manner that would make most people flinch, but the man didn't bat an eyelash.

Instead of answering, the stranger pushed a glass towards Reaper. "You look like hell, man," he said as Reaper knocked the drink back without a thought. He snorted and shook his head, grimacing at the odd taste of the drink.

"Thanks, asshole," he replied before swallowing another shot of his own.

Stupid and reckless; two words that automatically jumped to mind when the world suddenly began to slow down and turned blurry. Drugged. He'd been drugged.

_Oh, my God, that stuff is strong_, Reaper mused as he grabbed a hold of the stranger's arm and twisted it harshly.. "What the hell did you..." He blinked slowly as the world tipped on its axis and he slumped to the ground, completely boneless. THe man was the last thing he saw, a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat's on his face.

* * *

Hours, days, months, years. Reaper had _no_ idea how much time had passed. What he did know was there was _pain_ and that he couldn't move his arms and legs. Jerking roughly, he hissed and saw red. Someone had drugged him, stuck some needles in him and had _tied him up_. The room around him was sterile and white and just _screamed_ science facility.

It clicked.

They'd found him. Space had been a good hiding place; the UAC scientists didn't like space. Plus, Starfleet ruled the stars. He should have stayed in space, because he should have _known_ Earth wouldn't be a safe place for him. Reaper was aware that scientists had been notified about the twenty-fourth chromosome. That was why he'd begged George Kirk to let him have a head start, to have a chance to hide himself.

Well, he hadn't been doing a good job of hiding since his return to Earth. He hadn't _cared_ enough to hide, go on the down low like he really _should_ _have_ and now he was paying the price.

"Ah, you're awake, Mr. Grimm."

A masked face came into Reaper's view and he thrashed wildly against the restraints, hands twitching to get at the bastard that had tied him up and was turning him into some kind of science experiment. The scientist didn't flinch, however, only pressed his finger down on a button near the bed that sent shockwaves painfully into Reaper's nerves that made him stop and clench his teeth together to keep from crying out. _Fuck_. "Now, now. None of that."

Reaper _knew_ there was a reason why he hated scientists. They always seemed like such sadistic bastards, and the shocks that ripped through Reaper's body was indication that he was _right_. "We thought it'd take a lot to bring you down, what with your _fascinating_ extra chromosome, Mr. Grimm. It was a pleasant surprise when we didn't have much trouble at all. It _did_ take a while to locate you, though," he mused in a soft, fake-sugary voice that made Reaper twitch. He snarled and twisted himself away from the man, shaking from the aftershocks of electricity.

"We're going to be doing some tests..." Like _hell_ they were! _Gotta get out, gotta get out, gotta get out_, was his desperate thoughts, replaying and repeating as he flexed his arms against the restraints. They were _strong_. "We never did get to see how the test subject at Olduvai reacted to the twenty-fourth chromosome. All the files were destroyed," he continued, filling a hypospray with clear substance that screamed _this is trouble_ to Reaper. "But we're lucky, because we have _you_ now!" And didn't he just sound like a _kid_ in a candy shop?

"Fuck you," Reaper hissed as the hyopspray was jabbed into his skin. The room was silent for a few moments...

And then Reaper _screamed_. His world exploded into bright red _pain_ for a few endless minutes until his body had all it could take and blissful black washed over him.

_"A lab rat. That's all I'm going to be after this, you know that, Kirk? One goddamn lab rat."_

_"I dont..."_

_"I'm the only one with the extra chromosome, Kirk. I'm the only living one left. You think they're gonna just let me walk away?_"

John had been _right_. Each time Reaper's eyes opened, there was another scientist there, waiting to take blood samples or run some more _tests_ and Reaper had no idea how long he was going to be there for. Hours blended into days that blended into weeks and he lost all sense of time and it got to the point where he had no idea what _day_ it was. Day after day, he was strapped to the uncomfortable bed. They drugged him when they wanted him to get up, they practically tortured him while awake.

He had a feeling he knew what they were doing.

If C-24 was synthesized again, the result was going to be disastrous. _They_ thought that all the C-24 would do was make the person a superhuman. _They_ didn't know that he was _one_ that wouldn't be turned into a goddamned _monster_. _They_ didn't listen to him when he tried to tell them.

He stopped trying.

He stopped caring.

He stopped _feeling_.

He could only take so much. Every man has a breaking point and Reaper found his. He couldn't be bothered to fight back, he was too tired and in too much pain and he was always _restrained_.

Well, until the day he _wasn't_. They got sloppy. _They_ didn't tighten the restrains well enough. It was _their_ fault. When Reaper opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that he could move his arms just a bit more than usual.

Reaper smiled.

By the time someone noticed, it was too late. Reaper was fully awake and on his feet. When a team rushed into sedate him and tie him back, he fought back harder than he ever had. He was wobbly on his feet and his technique was less than his best but they were _scientists_. They didn't have training. But when one of the scientists got too close for comfort, Reaper lunged at him and, even though everything was _screaming_ at him to _stop, stop now!_ he sunk his teeth into the scientist's shoulder.

The others yelled and held Reaper down and immobilized him before they took the unconscious one out of the room. Reaper waited in silence for the others to come back, but they didn't. All there was in the room was silence.

24 hours later, the screaming started.


	5. Omniscience is Best

Title: Omniscience is Best

Author: drpepperupper

Fandom: Doom / Star Trek xi crossover

Characters & Pairings: John Grimm/Jim Kirk

Rating: R

Warning: Swearing

Notes: I've decided to make the chapters a bit shorter, to ease my insane mind. This is just another example of my totally fucked up mind, so I hope you have fun reading this chapter. The next installment will be coming soon, I promise.

Dark eyes rolled back into his head as he strained and writhed against the familiar bite of the restraints, locked in a new kind of torture; one that he'd brought upon himself. Even without his enhanced hearing, the screaming would be unbearable, but it was _worse_. If he had a normal human's hearing, he was sure the screaming would just be high-pitched. _Women_. Women made the shrieks of terror, the shrillest sounds that made Reaper both want to cover his ears and run to the rescue.

It wasn't so simple. He could hear every pitch, every voice, every high scream and low moan of unconcealed terror. He could hear prayers to the God that wasn't going to save them being uttered and he could hear someone cursing God. He could hear every yelled curse and every undignified plea before it was silenced or replaced by an inhuman growl that made Reaper's stomach clench. He could hear every movement made; the frantic running and the scared shaking. He could imagine their faces. They'd be pale, they'd have their mouths opened in a perpetual scream even as the product of his curse, _his_ twenty-fourth chromosome closed in on them.

He could smell the sweat and the blood and it made his empty stomach heave horribly, gasping even as he struggled to tear the restraints away from his wrists and ankles.

He didn't know exactly how many scientists were in the facility, but by the rate that the screams were rapidly dwindling into snarls or silence meant that there wasn't much time. _Much time for what?_ Reaper didn't know. All he could think was _Olduvai_ and _Sam, have to protect Sam_ and _oh, God, Sarge, not the Kid, he doesn't know any better _and the screaming continued.

"Oh, God! No, please! Help me! Help me, God!"

Now, Reaper's name wasn't God, but he could be a good substitute for Him if Reaper _could just get up_. That was a _woman _screamingand in his opinion, no matter _who_ he was, _no_ woman should ever have to scream and plead like that. He can almost _see_ what was happening; the horrible, deformed, ugly thing closing in on her, getting ready to either plunge the poisonous tongue into her neck or just kill her mercilessly.

No way in _hell_ that was going to happen.

Oh, wait!

This _was_ hell.

_Well, then, I'm kind of screwed._

_Well, __**yeah**__, no __**shit**__. Shouldn't have bit that guy, __**Reaper**__._

_Not my fault, __**John**__._

_Then get your sorry, enhanced ass off of this table and go kill those fucking things._

He was going fucking _crazy_. John, the rational, caring, _human_ side hadn't surfaced in... However long it had been... Reaper wasn't sure how long he'd been in the facility. _Too fucking long_, he told himself as he strained himself, jerking against the restraints and baring his teeth in a feral smile when he felt them begin to give. _Just a little more, just a little– There!_

Triumph was a taste he hadn't had on his tongue in too long a time. It was better than he'd remembered.

Nothing was stopping him except for the door between him and his prey, his enemies. All he needed was his gun, his team and his sister and it'd be the situation at Olduvai all over again. Reaper froze.

He remembered every detail about Olduvai. He remembered not wanting to be left behind while the team went to that Godforsaken planet. He remembered Sam and how entirely unenthused she'd been to see him, as he'd expected. He remembered anger at her slip, telling him they'd reopened the dig. He remembered learning about the twenty-fourth chromosome, completely innocent and ignorant to the foreshadowing.

He could still see the crazed doctor clutching a cold, pale arm and tearing off his own ear, driven to madness from fright and C-24. He could hear every order Sarge barked, how scared the Kid had looked, how pale Goat was when he died... No matter how many times he'd done his damnedest to forget, the memories still clung to him like a smell he couldn't wash out of his clothes.

_You don't shield a baby from time_. He needed to _move_. They could not get out. It was out of the question. If the monsters escaped the science facility...

There was no time for thought after that. Adrenaline clouded Reaper's thoughts of fear and hesitation, lulling him into a sense of false calm as he set to work using his super strength (God help him, he never wanted to hear the word 'super' again after this) to batter through the door. Each full-powered kick of his was aimed precisely at the weakest point on the sturdy door, bending the metal until it's breaking point. Once he was through the door, there was no turning back.

Well, to be completely honest, he had _no_ intention of turning back.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Reaper knew that he wasn't back in Olduvai back on Mars, but through his eyes, he saw the familiar UAC facility. He imagined that if he turned his head, he could see Duke and Portman behind him. If he looked straight ahead, he could see Sarge leading the way, fearless and calm as always. He could almost hear Kid's panicked breaths behind him and Goat's muttered Bible verses.

For some reason, that relaxed him.

_"Eyes forward, men,"_ Sarge would say, keeping his steps as light as possible, eyes watchful as ever; the perfect leader. He wasn't afraid to put himself into a dangerous situation first; instead he thrived on it. Reaper kept his eyes on the vision of Sarge as he moved as quietly as he possibly could into the main facility. It felt so fucking _good_ to be out of that little white room, but his freedom was bittersweet. There was carnage everywhere, so directly reminiscent of Olduvai that Reaper had to fight back a shiver that traveled down his spine.

_"What the __**fuck **__is going on?_" Portman would swear, warm and moist words forming against Reaper's neck. It would make him twitch and swing his elbow back to jab Portman in his ribs. Reaper's elbow actually did snap back to elbow the almost-hallucination, and even though his elbow swung through thin air, the image of Portman in his eyes huffed, swore under his breath and rubbed at his bruise.

_"Man, this is fucked up,"_ He could hear Duke say in his ear as he tiptoed his way through the now-silent hall, eyes alert for any sign of movement. Reaper was aware that he had no weapon, nothing to protect himself with. His hands felt weightless and empty without the gun he _should_ have had in his grip.

The Sarge illusion turned and pointed at Reaper and the Kid._ "Both of you, weapons lab. Clear it. Duke, Portman; head left. Destroyer and I will go right."_ Somewhere in the back of his mind, Reaper wondered if he was really losing it. He _wasn't_ in Olduvai. His team was _dead_. He didn't even _know_ if the facility had a weapons lab, yet his feet apparently had a mind of their own as he turned and headed the opposite direction. The Kid's illusion followed him and smiled nervously as Reaper snuck a glance at him.

"Why are you here?"

_"We're your team. You think we're gonna let you down __**now**__?"_

"But you're dead. You're not _real_."   _"You really think that matters to us?"_  "Why are you here?"  _"Giving you some help, Reaper. You can thank us later."_

He didn't get far before he heard something. Senses on high alert, Reaper spun around quickly just in time to see one of those Godforsaken monsters dart into a shadow out of the corner of his eye. Disgust and revolt bubbled up in the form of bile in the back of Reaper's throat. He remembered those _things_ all too intimately, remembered the first one he'd ever set eyes on. He remembered it attacking Goat, the gaping wound on the soldier's neck and the flatline signaling the end of a life through a brutal murder.

He _hated_ them.

The not-Sarge turned suddenly and fixed his dark, familiar gaze on Reaper. There were a couple beats of silence in which Reaper could hear the predatory growl loud and clear in the silence.

_"Run."_

He didn't need to be told twice. Reaper had always been good with following orders; today was no exception, even if it was his own mind projecting the image of his team to get him to go.

Without wasting time, Reaper spun on his heel and took off running. One glance to his right told him that Kid was right with him. Of _course_ he was. Apparently his mind wasn't through with helping him out yet. _"Go, go, go, go, __**go**__,_" the not-Kid was shouting as they both barreled through the narrow halls of the facility, moving as a blur. Reaper could hear the monster, the _thing_, his _enemy,_ not far behind him.

_No gun, no knife, no __**nothing**__! I'm screwed!_

_"Don't panic. Just run,"_ Kid said, not sounding winded at all as he kept up with the breakneck speed.

"I don't know where I'm going!"

_"But __**I**__ do."_ After that, the Kid illusion positioned himself in front of Reaper and led him with sure steps, twisting and turning through the labyrinth, leading him God knew where. Reaper's breath came in short gusts, but if he was honest with himself, he did feel calmer when he kept his eyes on the illusion's back. _"Reaper, Reaper! Here,_" he exclaimed, pointing to a door clearly marked _**Weapons Lab**_.

Sometimes, Reaper really loved his mind.

The Kid whispered the code in his ear and Reaper's fingers flew so fast over the console that they were just a blur, even to his own eyes. Once they were inside, Reaper wasted no time grabbing as many weapons as he could physically carry without hindering his ability to move quickly. The Kid illusion stood ready at the door and Reaper found himself staring at him. "You were so young."

_"Yeah, I know. I wasn't too happy about dying, either, man. Still haven't forgiven Sarge for that one. Hurt like a __**bitch**__." _

Something was puzzling Reaper, though, even as he smiled grimly at the weapons in his arms. "If you're in my head, how did you know where this was and the code?"

The Kid illusion only smiled. _"Who says I'm in your head? You know, being dead has its perks. Being omniscient is awesome._" Reaper didn't get another chance to ask him what the hell he was on about because the thing that had been chasing Reaper burst into the room, coincidentally swiped at the image of the Kid. The image, however, reacted like it had really been hit, bleeding and screaming; only for Reaper's ears to hear. He let out an enraged roar as the Kid dropped down to the ground, dead for the second time, and faded away. It's ugly, deformed head swiveled towards Reaper as he shuddered. The things were awful, repulsive and made his hackles rise.

They were pure evil while Reaper was supposed to be purely good. They were opposites, they hated each other with every fibre of their beings; it was just natural. So, when the thing rushed him, there was no hesitation for Reaper to pull the trigger on the gun that he held in his arms and blast the thing into oblivion. It had tough skin and lunged at Reaper, sending him flying and crashing into the steel walls at the other end of the room.

With not so much as a groan, Reaper got to his feet and shot again, yelling his fury at the repulsive thing until it dropped at his feet as a bloody, mangled mess.

_"I knew you were a trigger-happy bastard, but __**wow**__, Grimm. No wonder you Marines call us 'crybaby space cowboys'." _

John nearly dropped his gun.

"Jesus Christ!"

George Kirk smirked from where he was leaning against the doorframe. _"Close, but not quite._"

"What the _hell_?" Reaper shook his head firmly, rubbed at his eyes and then blinked them open again, only to find that the image of George Kirk was still staring at him, looking horribly bemused.

_"What, surprised to see me?" _

"What is with you messing with my brain?" Reaper grumbled, running a hand down his already sweaty and grimy face.

_"Well, you know, Grimm, there's not much to mess with, to be honest..._"

Reaper growled and shouldered his gun, striding towards the door and poking his head out to make sure the coast was clear before he took a hesitant step out of the weapons lab. He wasn't in the mood to deal with George Kirk in any form, even one that was coming from his own damn _head_. He was exactly like Jim, however (technically, Jim was exactly like George, but that didn't matter), so it really didn't surprise him when George followed him at a leisurely pace.

_"Got yourself in quite a bit of trouble, I see._" Reaper ignored him, slowly making his way down the deserted corridor, barely even flinching whenever he came in contact with a bit of gore or even a full body that had been mangled beyond recognition. "Some people never change."

"Some people never stop being annoying," Reaper retorted, frowning deeply as he loaded the gun again and crept back through the winding corridors as quietly as possible. He turned and glared at the image of George. "What are _you_ doing here?"

_"Isn't it obvious? I'm making sure you don't screw up, like I always do. Now eyes forward, keep walking and stay alert,"_ George said, loping up to Reaper's side casually, as if he wasn't afraid of what might be lurking around the corner. He kept himself calm as he turned on the light on the gun in his arms and surveyed the area. There was blood spattered everywhere like in those awful 21st century horror movies, but it was obvious that the blood was real and not just painted on the walls.

He grimaced at the bodies, or parts of bodies lying on the floor, as he snuck past, back bent so that he was closer to the ground and ready to run if he had to. _"You look like hell, John," _George commented as he followed. Reaper was just glad that no one else could hear him because, damn it, the man wasn't going shut up for this.

"Oh, I wonder _why_," he growled back. George didn't get a chance to respond because once they turned the corner, they were ambushed. Well, Reaper was.

They were gruesome; blood dripped from their open, screeching mouths and onto their once-white science coats. They definitely did look like something from those awful zombie movies. It was a lot easier to think of himself as part of one of those movies as he pulled the trigger and shot frantically at the rapidly approaching almost-monsters. Reaper guessed that they were in the process of changing to a full-blown C-24 mutant; they weren't as dangerous but they sure could scare the hell out of a person.

There were a lot of them, though. "_Turn around! Run!"_ George was shouting and was reaching for Reaper, as if he could grab him and pull him around. Before his mind could catch up with his actions, Reaper was sprinting back the way he had come. He turned his head just for a second to catch a glimpse of George trying to sacrifice himself, like always, so that Reaper could get away.

Of course, since he was dead and a figment of Reaper's own twisted imagination, it was a futile attempt.

Reaper turned a corner and left the image of George Kirk to die in a heroic attempt. _Again_.

_I really hate that man_, Reaper thought as he turned another corner and paused to catch his breath.

_"No, you don't." _

This time, Reaper _did_ drop his gun. As he scrambled to get a hold of it again, his head snapped up and took in the image of Samantha Grimm, the way she had looked just before Olduvai went to Hell. He was aware that his mouth had dropped open and that he was gaping, but no matter what his mind thought he needed, he wasn't prepared to see the vision of his sister. He turned around and promptly threw up on the floor.

"Sam!" She jerked and looked around quickly, putting a finger to her lips.

_"Shh, shh! You __**want**__ to draw attention to yourself, wonder boy?" _Reaper just stared, ran a hand through his hair, attempted to speak and then stared some more. He was still hurting over the loss of his twin, his other half, and seeing her look so young and healthy sent him reeling. Deal with the vision of his old team? Yeah, he could do that. Watch the Kid get killed a second time? Sure, no problem. Meet George Kirk, annoyer extraordinaire and let him sacrifice himself again? Yeah, why not?

Face an image of his two-minute-older sister?

No. Fucking. _Way_. "Sam, go away! I don't want you here," he hissed at her, flinching away as she advanced on him, glaring like she always used to. What he really wanted to say was, _'Sam, go away! I don't want to watch you get killed, too,'_ but he was a guy and her brother, so that was completely out of the question.

She wasn't buying it. _"Be quiet, John! They're going to find you if you keep being so loud," _she hissed right back and walked forward until he'd pressed himself up against the cold wall and she was in his personal space. _"I __**know**__ you don't want me here. I don't really want to be here, honestly, but you need my help." _

"No, I don't need your help! I'm doing just fine on my own," he spat, averting his eyes from her image. It was too much; seeing her just brought back a world of hurt and he had been doing so _well_. He'd given himself over to his more inhuman side to get away from the pain, to get away from the feelings.

Apparently, nothing was ever simple.

What the _hell_ was his own mind _doing_ to him?

_"__**Listen to me**__. They're going to try to get out, John. They're trying __**right now**__."_ Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Reaper's breath caught in his throat and he finally locked eyes with his twin. Two fires burned bright, anger and fear and desperation mirroring in each other's eyes._ "Do you know what'll happen if they get out?"_

_Shit_.

Reaper didn't spare another word to her; he just turned and bolted. His hands flew everywhere between loading his gun, fiddling with the knife on his belt and setting a phaser to 'kill'. They couldn't get out. _That_ was what he'd prevented when he'd killed Sarge and had blown up UAC. If they got out, Earth was screwed.

It was down to Reaper again? _The universe must hate me._ Sam kept up with him as easily as Kid had, running alongside him. _"You __**think**__?_" Well, it wasn't Reaper's fault that the universe hated him. He didn't know what he'd done to earn the scorn.

He found it was kind of hard to run so fast with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Sam ran ahead of him, beckoning to him as she turned a corner sharply. _"This way!"_ Reaper found that he was kind of grateful for this whole omniscient thing.

He wasn't prepared for the sight before his eyes, however.

It was dark in the corridor, so the bright red 'exit' sign glowed brightly in the gloom. That wasn't what caught his eye, however. What drew his attention was the mob of C-24 mutants clawing and pounding and kicking at the exit door; the door that was already beginning to yield to their desperate attempts to get out. _They can probably smell other humans on the outside,_ Reaper thought, eyes widening in horror.

What was worse, Reaper understood their desperation to get out. True, his own wish came from better intentions (like to save Earth, for one), but he had felt the need to get out of a room, to get out into the open. The only difference was, they were going to destroy anything and everything in their path once they got out.

There were so many of them, too. Reaper couldn't possibly stand a chance against so many focused mutants. Really, he was just lucky they hadn't sensed him yet. He turned towards Sam, a slightly panicked expression on his face. "What do I do?"

They had tucked themselves into the corner, just observing as the monsters clawed their way through the door. They got closer to their goal with each pound and growl on the slowly yielding door. Sam looked horrified as well and moved her frightened gaze to him._ "Stay alive," _she said softly, her eyes growing sad as she stepped a little closer to Reaper.

He didn't want her to leave. "Sam..." She stepped close and reached out, wrapping her arms around him. He jumped when he actually felt cold air encircle his waist where her arms were. He dropped his head down and placed a gentle kiss on the air where her head was, but she hummed and smiled as if she could feel it, wherever she was.

_"I love you, John. Don't forget that, okay? I'm so proud of you._"

And then she was gone, fading slowly and leaving Reaper clutching at thin air, eyes traitorously moist.

That wasn't _right_. He wasn't supposed to let emotions get in the way of work when he was being the soldier; being Reaper, being the enhanced humanoid. The pain was _supposed_ to have stopped when he stopped _wanting_ to care. He wasn't _supposed_ to feel as helpless as he did, he was _supposed_ to be able to rush into things, guns a'blaze and yelling. He wasn't _supposed_ to feel so scared.

But he _was_.

For the first time in his life, he felt like there was nothing he could do, only cringed in the shadows with each clang and screech that the door made until it finally broke. _Couldn't have stopped them. There were too many. I'd have been killed on the spot_, he reasoned with himself, growing angrier and angrier by the second as the monsters scrabbled at each other and screeched and flooded through the broken door and into the real world. Reaper could easily hear surprised shouts and screeches and yells and growls and oh _fuck_, but it was starting already. _God help us all_, Reaper thought bitterly as he slumped against the wall, put his head in his hands and shook.

Reaper had no idea how long he just stood there, back pressed against the blood-covered wall, staring at thin air. He finally snapped out of his horror-induced trance when he heard sirens wailing and voices much too near for comfort.

If they found him, it would be all over. He'd be locked up again and he wouldn't be able to help, he wouldn't be able to do a goddamn thing. So, he made his stiff limbs move and he darted back into the gore and gloom of the science facility until he came to another door that had a hole ripped in it, just like the main exit. _Damn, they got out this way, too,_ Reaper thought and cursed quietly as he slipped out of the facility and back into the light of day.

_Fuck_.


End file.
